


All Paths Lead Here

by Defira



Series: Wild Mage [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:19:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3300674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the command of her Holiness, Divine Justinia, the people of Thedas have descended upon the tiny village of Haven, and the fabled Temple of Sacred Ashes, journeying from across the continent to answer her call for peace. Amongst the thousands gathered in the mountains, three people- a mage, a guardian, and a soldier- reflect on the paths they have taken to reach this point, and the sacrifices they have made along the way. </p>
<p>And on the eve of the greatest conclave since the signing of the Llomerryn Accords, those three lives will make all the difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Are you sure you won’t take some of our horses?” Arlessa Isolde was saying, standing companionably beside Leylo in the brisk morning air as everyone slowly assembled in the courtyard to depart. Corinne hesitated at the top of the stairs as she took in the crowd, wary of approaching without either Vilas or Riana as a buffer against the Arlessa. The Grand Enchanter was nowhere to be seen this morning, and for that Corinne was thankful- she’d already had enough arguments on this trip as it was, and she didn’t want to start this next leg of the journey in a bad mood because she couldn’t keep her opinions to herself again. 

Shrugging her satchel higher onto her shoulder, she ambled slowly down towards the courtyard, only half listening to the chatter in the yard. 

“Admittedly the calibre of our stables has not been the same ever since Master Dennet retired last year,” Isolde continued, “but they are sound beasts, all of them, and they will carry you faithfully through the mountains.”

Leylo smiled in response. “We appreciate your kindness, my Lady, but we shall be fine on foot. The conclave is still two weeks away, and even at a relaxed pace we won’t have a problem with time.”

“Maker, but I do not envy you,” Isolde said with a sigh. “I have not the endurance nor the patience for such a task, even if the roads _were_ quiet and uneventful.”

Corinne fought the urge to roll her eyes as she caught the snippets of their careful diplomatic posturing; she wondered how poorly things had gone overall, given her confrontation with Isolde last night after supper and her snappish responses to both the Arlessa _and_ the Grand Enchanter during the meal. She still had no idea what Leylo had hoped to achieve here on Ishaaro’s behalf, or whether she’d ruined those plans entirely. 

_Maybe if someone had bothered to fill her in before she’d blundered her way across Ferelden..._

The sound of slouched footsteps scuffing roughly at the stones came from behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Vilas wincing as he stepped into the light of the morning. He was all but dragging his bag behind him, and he’d pulled his hair back from his face with a scarf, the fabric hanging low over his forehead. He put a hand up to shield his face, muttering darkly under his breath as he tried to tug the scarf lower still to cover his bloodshot eyes.

Corinne raised an eyebrow. “Long night, cousin?” she asked innocently, her breath curling from her mouth like fog in the cold air.

Vilas had very little jewellery on this morning, half of the silver missing from his ears and only a single tiny stud in his nose. The kohl around his eyes was smudged and messy, as if he’d slept in it without removing it or attempting to retouch it upon waking, and the silver hoop from his eyebrow was gone. More noticeably, his extensive collection of beads and silver chains that he normally wore looped in cascades around his neck were absent, his throat and shoulders bared to her gaze and very noticeably covered in red marks and scratches. 

Vilas cast her the filthiest look imaginably, rubbing wearily at the side of his temple. “Not a _word_ from you, cousin,” he said softly, clearly attempting for it to sound threatening but only coming across as petulant.

Corinne crossed her arms, widening her eyes in an exaggerated attempt at naiveté. “Did you not enjoy your evening in the barracks? Riana told me all about the card games you were invited to, and that Ser Muna-”

“Not. A. Word.”

His words were woefully prophetic, because at precisely that moment Riana came sauntering out from the great hall, as magnificently styled now as she had been last night- clearly she’d taken advantage of the chance to bathe properly and feel refreshed after a good night’s sleep in a real bed to revert back to her more glamorous preferences. Unlike Vilas’ dishevelled state, she’d gone to great lengths to make herself look nothing less than exquisite, from the fresh shine on her peacock blue leather jacket to the matching beads that clacked in her locs as they swung gently to and fro, to the glittering blue she'd painted with careful skill over her eyes and on her lips.

She dropped her bag on the ground as heavily as possible, and Corinne had to fight back a grin at the way Vilas whimpered and put his hand up to his head in response to the noise; Riana slung her arm companionably over his shoulders, winking at Corinne over his head. “Good _morning_ , cousin,” she said loudly, planting an affectionate kiss on top of his scarf covered head. “How are you on this fine, chilly morning?”

“Oh fucking spirits, as the universe is my witness, I am actually going to murder you right here-”

“Aww, did someone get a wee bit hungover last night?” Riana continued in an indulgent tone, grinning wolfishly. “I hope at least that the gambling ended to your satisfaction? No?”

Vilas looked plaintively at Corinne. “How do I make it _stop_?” he whispered.

“Maybe don’t tease her with sexual comments next time she says she hates it,” Corinne said pointedly. 

He made a plausible effort at a lip quiver. “You are both _terribly_ unsupportive in my hour of most desperate need,” he said pathetically, shaking off Riana’s arm and trudging down the rest of the steps into the courtyard with his bag dragging behind him. He didn’t even look like he’d gone to the effort of finding fresh clothes- although if he’d come straight from the barracks, he likely hadn’t had time to change. 

“I can make you a poultice for those bite marks,” Corinne called after him, grinning as Riana cackled under her breath. “Human mouths are full of germs, I’d hate for you to-”

“I hate _you_ ,” Vilas called back over his shoulder, making a rude gesture as he stomped over towards the gate.

Riana threw her head back and howled with laughter, turning into Corinne and holding onto her to stay upright. “Did you see that,” she gasped, carefully wiping tears from her eyes so as not to smudge the delicate sweep of blue around them. “Spirits, I haven’t seen him look that ruined in years- if I see Muna before we leave, I’ll have to thank her. Or, at least, ask her who we have to thank.”

“You’d think getting drunk and laid would put him in a better mood,” Corinne said, grinning at Riana’s sinister glee at their cousin’s foul temper. 

“Who even knows? I mean, _I_ think sex is repulsive, and you’ve got no opinion on the matter-”

“Hey!”

Riana looked at her knowingly. “What’s your opinion on sex?”

Corinne gaped at her for a moment, then grinned sheepishly. “Alright, fair call,” she said, eyes darting to the ground as she felt heat colour her cheeks.

“For all we know, maybe that’s what good sex looks like in the aftermath- in which case, _ew_.” They stepped aside to let a servant pass, the man carrying a small bundle over to the Arlessa where she stood chatting with Leylo and Asha; Riana sighed. “I suppose we should let them know we’re ready to go, shouldn’t we?”

As they began to wander over, Corinne glanced at her out of the corner of her eyes. “You look good,” she said, gesturing to her outfit. “More like you do back home, except with more layers.”

“I _feel_ good,” Riana said, stretching her arms out languidly and turning her face up towards the pale sun. “I swear, I’ve only felt half myself these past few weeks. It’s nice to have the time and the space to feel whole again.”

Corinne felt a pang in her chest at Riana’s words, said in jest, but with a deeper anxiety hidden beneath them. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Riana turned to her in surprise, a perplexed look on her face. “Macan?”

“I’m sorry you’ve been just as miserable as me, and I’ve not helped the situation,” she said, reaching out to take her hand. She’d even painted her nails this morning, sparkling blue green like the waters of Rialto Bay on a calm day, and Corinne could feel just how much happier she was, how much lighter inside. Funny how something she brushed aside as inconsequential was so important to Ria, and just as horrifying how easily she _had_ dismissed it as flippancy and unimportant. “I’ll help you with... I don’t know, your hair or something in the mornings, if you’d like. Whatever you need to feel more comfortable.”

Riana laughed delightedly. “Oh, darling,” she said, squeezing her hand tightly in hers. “I appreciate the thought, but it’s really been a matter of practicality. As much as I’d like to look like a dabka dancer every day of the year, it’s not really that sensible when I’m trekking through a mud drenched country and sleeping in the woods.”

Corinne ducked her head, grinning awkwardly. “I just want to make you happy.”

“I know, macan, and I adore you for it- even if I don’t trust you not to mistake mud for foundation.”

“Hey, you never know, maybe the locals have perfected mud resistant makeup- I could absolutely find out for you.” 

Riana shuddered violently. “Spirits protect me, but I can only imagine in utter horror what sort of goo that would have to be. No, thanks- my skin and my ego deserve better.”

From behind them, someone cleared their throat, and they turned as one to see the Arlessa standing expectantly behind them, a placid expression on her face that told them both that she had heard every word they’d said and was politely pretending for their sake that she had not. 

Corinne felt her stomach drop, and beside her Riana groaned. 

“My Lady Corinne,” Isolde said charmingly, ignoring Riana’s groan and smiling like they were dear friends as she placed her fingers beneath her elbow, “might I borrow you for a moment, before you depart?”

Corinne glanced at Riana, who simply shrugged and winked, the shimmering blue over her eyes glittering under the morning sunshine like crushed sapphires. She looked like a sea spirit, all vivid blues and dark shadows as she turned on her heel and sauntered away, leaving her to the mercy of the Arlessa without so much as a whispered apology in her direction. 

“Wretch,” she muttered under her breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing, my Lady,” Corinne said quickly, throwing a hasty smile in her direction. It felt too forced, too many teeth bared and not enough warmth, but apparently something in it satisfied the Arlessa, because she did not question her further. “Was there something I could help you with?”

Isolde inclined her head towards the far side of the yard. “Walk with me,” she said, her fingers firm under her elbow as she steered her across the yard, to where an old tree draped against the battlements, the lower trunk worn smooth by generations of small hands clambering up into the branches to play. It was something she’d overlooked the afternoon before when they’d arrived, and she regretted it now- there was no better storyteller than a tree, no greater record keeper hoarding secrets and memories across the years. She could have learned a great deal more about Redcliffe, and the Guerrin family, had she thought to look here first. 

“I understand you have a great love of botany,” Isolde said, dragging her out of her contemplations and back to the present, where her family bustled and shouted in the background as they prepared to leave for the final portion of their travels. “Your aunt was remarkably proud when describing your passion and your talent.”

Taken aback by the unexpected direction of the conversation, Corinne felt her cheeks heat, a warm bubble of pride glowing within her as she grinned awkwardly. “I don’t know that I’d call it a talent, so much as just natural instinct,” she said hesitantly. “It’s just something I’ve always been able to do.”

“Never be afraid to own your gifts, my dear,” Isolde said firmly, her fingers digging in a little sharper where she held her by the elbow. “There is nothing greater than the joy found in excelling in your own way. Be proud of what you have.”

“I- thank you, my Lady,” she said, stammering a little. This sudden interest in her, and the utter lack of acknowledgement of their disagreement late last night, was unnerving.

Isolde smiled cryptically. “It is my pleasure, my dear,” she said, and she finally handed her the velvet wrapped bundle she had kept discreetly at her side- the one Corinne had seen the servant rush to pass to her fifteen minutes earlier. “With the warmest regards of Redcliffe- and hopefully, we can look forwards to more _amicable_ discussions in the future."

Stunned, Corinne looked up at her in a daze. "You're not angry with me for last night?" she asked incredulously.

"Oh, I was certainly frustrated at the time, make no mistake- but I have not spent the better part of the last decade in this fight only to be waylaid by the opinions of a single individual determined to maintain their own freedom and neutrality." Her lips quirked, as if she wanted to smirk and restrained herself. "Your arguments are nothing I have not faced before, and while I can respect the intelligence with which you expressed your views and the motivation behind them, it makes no difference to me. Regardless of how you choose to conduct yourself going forward into the future, it will not change my determination to make the necessary changes for my daughter’s generation.”

When Corinne only stared, Isolde laughed softly. “Well, go on then- open it.”

Pulling aside the velvet covering, Corinne’s fingers instead brushed over the worn leather cover of a book, and a smaller parcel wrapped in brown paper sitting upon it. She tried to juggle it all in both hands, not sure whether it was some kind of terrible faux pas to let the velvet fall to the ground. “The Philosophia Botanica of Ferelden and the Southern Wilds,” she read aloud when she finally had a clear view of the cover, running her fingers over the embossed letters in the title.

“I apologise that we had nothing more recent on hand in the library- that edition is well over fifteen years old,” Isolde said. “My understanding of botany and herbology is quite limited, but I would hope that the information contained within would still be of interest to you. Or relevant, at the very least.”

“I...” Corinne swallowed, desperately conscious of the tears she could feel brimming in her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”

“What, a woman so keen to voice her opinions just last night left speechless? Surely not.”

The gentle teasing was something she would have expected of her aunt, or of her mother, and it roused a weak laugh from her, the tears giving her a reprieve for the moment. “I’ve not much experience on the matter of receiving gifts,” she said awkwardly. “Certainly not from anyone other than immediate family.”

“No? How fortunate I was able to add to your limited experience, then.”

“Please don’t think me ungrateful,” Corinne said hastily, brushing away the single tear that had escaped onto her cheek before she’d brought herself back under control. “I... I really cannot say how much your kindness means to me.”

Isolde made a noise of amusement. “Over an old book languishing in the castle library? My dear, you are far too generous with your praise.” She waved a hand as if dismissing the words as one would swat away irksome bugs. “But come now- the other package interests me far more. Or rather, your reaction to it does.”

Corinne hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Well, now I’m just suspicious.”

Laughing, Isolde said “Rowan was quite determined to provide you with a gift of her own choosing, so I have quite stern instructions to report your utter delight and gratitude to her once she has finished her morning lessons.”

“Duly noted,” Corinne said, smiling as she carefully tore open the paper of the other, smaller package. The smile froze as the contents rolled out into her palm, and she felt her heart stop for a moment.

Two glass phials were wrapped carefully within, subtly warm as they rested in her hand, and even brushing her fingers over the outside was enough for the contents to sing softly to her. 

“Your aunt explained to me the symbolism and ceremony in the gift of soil,” Isolde was saying. “I must confess, some of the technicalities went over my head, but I understand that it’s somewhat of an extension of trust and friendship?”

Swallowing hard, Corinne rubbed her fingers over the outside of the phial in question, feeling the call of the dark black earth beneath the glass. “It’s, um...” She’d never had anyone outside of the family express an interest in how she worked her magic, or in the little rituals that filled her days. “It’s a... connection. In a sense. It started when I was younger, and needed to travel from home- being able to carry a small piece of home with me helped on the worst days, and when I got older I could draw upon the strength of such a connection as long as I had the focus with me.”

She laughed softly, because it was better than crying. “It was a sentimentality that became a rather powerful practicality, in time. And of course, taking soil samples is just par the course as a student of botany, so it’s science and ceremony rolled in to one.”

“And it gives you some kind of power over a place?”

“That’s... somewhat of an oversimplification of the relationship, but yes. In layman’s terms, if it is gifted to me freely, then I have power and sanctuary in the place from which the soil was drawn.”

Isolde smiled. “Then in that case, Redcliffe is humbled to offer you a place of sanctuary.”

Corinne slowly closed her fingers around the phials, chewing on her lip. She took a deep breath. “Why?” she asked finally.

“Why what?”

“Why do you wish to extend such an intimacy and a vulnerability to me? You barely know me.”

Isolde’s smile turned sad, almost bitter. “I have been in contact with your grandmother for many years now, and I’ve been privy to some of your trials and tribulations through her letters. I realise our circumstances might be extraordinarily different, but I recognised something of myself in her tales of you. A young woman without a country, trying to make herself happy and comfortable with the love extended to her, but never quite sure of her place.”

The confession utterly floored her, and Corinne gaped at her for several long seconds, her mouth working soundlessly as she struggled to find the words to respond. 

“I’ll not pretend that I can understand your own grief and anger in the way that your parents treated you,” she continued, “but I do know what it is to be an outsider, forcing a smile to your face because you cannot stand the silence that comes with your loneliness.”

Taking a shaky breath, Corinne said “You didn’t even know I was adopted until last night when you recognised me,” she said, her voice wobbling. 

“I knew you were not Ishaaro’s biological grandchild, but she wrote of you with nothing but fierce pride and delight. I have been remarkably curious about the woman who could rouse such love and loyalty for some time now.”

“So I’m a curiosity, nothing more.” It sounded far more bitter than she had intended, and she wanted to laugh at herself for daring to believe that the Arlessa had meant anything earnestly about the gesture.

Isolde sighed. “I won’t pretend that there are not benefits to currying the favour of a powerful seer and her granddaughter,” she said with a shrug, “especially given the current political climate, but it is a gift offered in sincerity. You are welcome in Redcliffe, Corinne, and I mean that both as Arlessa and as someone who would be interested to call herself your friend.”

Corinne stared at her for a few long moments, searching for some kind of deceit on her part; Isolde was remarkably patient, waiting for her to reach her decision without pushing her further. Swallowing down the unpleasant tirade of accusations that wanted to escape from her lips, she said “And the other phial?”

“A gift from Rowan,” Isolde said instantly, her expression softening. “She insisted upon offering her own remembrance to you, _from one mage to another_ , in her words.” 

The contents clinked faintly as she rolled the glass in her hand. “What seeds are they?” she said, knowing instinctively what was inside without the need to upend it into her palm.

At the question, Isolde sighed almost in embarrassment, and Corinne glanced up at her; she had an almost apologetic look in her eyes, and she was biting the corner of her lip awkwardly. “I have no idea what they are,” she admitted. “Rowan insisted upon choosing them herself, and would not let anyone accompany her through the gardens. All I know from the devastation wrought upon the rose bushes is that there are probably a few thorns that she mistook for seeds in there.”

The answer took her by surprise, and Corinne couldn’t help herself- after the awkwardness and the hostility of the conversation over the last few minutes, she laughed, genuinely touched by Rowan’s attempts at kindness.

“I would not be surprised if the contents were little more than broken stems and pebbles,” Isolde said apologetically. “She means well.”

“There’s a few seeds in there,” Corinne said to reassure her, holding the phial up to inspect the contents. “I’ll look more closely later tonight, when I can examine them with the care they deserve.”

Isolde made a noise of amusement. “You are more than kind to indulge her, my dear.”

“Children are so wonderfully honest in their intentions,” Corinne said, smiling as she pocketed the two phials into one of her numerous belt pouches. They clinked alongside her other phials and philtres, settling into the darkness of the lined pocket once she tugged the cover back down. “It’s an incredibly generous gift from her, and I am so touched by her kindness.”

The Arlessa let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders visibly relaxing. “I will convey your thanks to her,” she said. “ _Thank_ you.”

“It’s not- I’m the one who should be thanking you,” Corinne said awkwardly. “I only hope I can prove worthy of your- and your daughter’s- trust in me.”

“I believe your aunt has plans to travel this way once the conclave is concluded,” Isolde said, indicating that they should join the others in the centre of the courtyard once more. “You would be more than welcome to stay with us for a time.”

Trying to rearrange her satchel to fit the book in amongst her crumpled clothing, she said “I sincerely doubt you want a directionless hedge witch eating her way through your larder, but I appreciate the thought.”

“I invited an entire legion of mages to live on my lands,” Isolde said, raising her eyebrows in amusement. “What’s one more in the grand scheme of things.” 

It felt remarkably surreal to walk away from the castle and back into the world, like stepping out of a small bubble of time. The quiet of the heavy stone halls gave way to the open sky and the rabble milling through the township, and Corinne was grateful not only to be out in the breeze again, but also that their path led them west around the lake edge, and in the opposite direction to the overwhelmed town and camp. 

She’d had enough of people, for the time being; she was glad for the silence of the road and the woods. 

The two containers bumped against her hip all day as she walked, in theory indistinguishable from the other vials and tubes she carried with her at all times, all brimming with too many samples and too many scrapings and her hundredth attempt at some half-thought-out concoction that was probably going to kill her if she attempted to drink it. In practice, however, she could feel them as clearly as if they were molten bars, burning her skin with the knowledge that they were there, waiting for her to acknowledge them and process the meaning behind them. 

Rowan’s gift was simple enough, the honesty and eagerness of a child looking to please and be acknowledged, and that she’d gone to the effort of collecting the seeds herself spoke leagues as to the goodness in her heart. As to whether or not the gift itself had been her idea in the first place, that remained to be seen- she hadn’t precisely told Rowan herself her strengths as an elementalist, so someone had to have explained the whole concept to her. 

As bright as the little girl was, she couldn’t have made the decision to give her a gift of seeds without being prompted. 

It was, however, far less complicated than contemplating Isolde’s gift of soil. It was an immensely private ritual of hers, a way to keep a hold on paths she’d left in her wake. When she carried the earth of her home with her, the forest outside Ostwick, she could close her eyes and feel all of it again. The smells came back, the dappled warmth of the sun filtering down between the leaves and turning her brown skin gold, the raw and earthy damp of the shadows as she crouched in the bracken, the cool and lively breeze pulling her hair loose as she lounged on the highest branches... there was strength in the memories, strength to be found in the emotional connection she had to a place that was responsible for so much of her joy and so much of her magic and so much of her _soul_. It was hard to explain to someone without the gift what a simple vial of dirt could do for her.

It was a comfort, to be sure, but it was also a focus. With it, she could reach through to the centre of herself, to find the truest and most powerful aspect of herself; so much of it had to do with the faith her parents had instilled in her, the understanding that the world and the self were one, and that it was all just a part of a greater power and synergy. Other cultures liked to personify such power, and name it God- she understood the comfort such a prospect offered, to dream of something larger and greater than herself watching with a benevolent and terrible gaze, but she couldn’t find that comfort herself.

She was a power within herself, a piece of the universe- she was not a puppet for a god to enact their whims upon the world.

So she rolled the phials back and forth in her palm as she walked, and contemplated what they were to be for her.

The roads towards Haven were- she was told- far easier to travel now than they had been a decade earlier. With the temple’s discovery in the mountains by the Lady Cousland, the whole area had become a place of pilgrimage, and half hidden mountain trails were now wide enough for two wagons to travel abreast, with hastily built inns positioned at regular intervals along the lake road. What was once quite literally the hinterlands of Ferelden was now bustling with traffic, and in a few places along the path the taverns were well on their way to becoming the foundation of a village, a cluster of smaller buildings popping up around them. 

Refugees who’d abandoned their homes in the south during the Blight, opportunistic traders looking to capitalise on religious fervour, weeping pilgrims looking to find meaning to their lives... the last ten years had brought more life to this part of the world than had been seen in centuries.

They followed the southern curve of Lake Calenhad, the days pleasantly cold and the nights ferociously so. It was a marvel to wake first thing in the morning and see the fog hanging over the surface of the lake, a magnificent wall of white cloud that slowly fizzled away as the weak morning sunlight bore down on it. 

There’d been fresh snow up in the mountains, so they’d been told, and the closer they drew to the looming peaks that slowly dominated the horizon it was a wonder to see them brown and speckled white one morning and vividly, painfully white the next. The snow did not quite make it to the Hinterlands where they walked, but it was cold enough some mornings for the cobbled roads to be slick with ice and the tents to crack loudly when they pushed their way free to greet the day.

They were three days out from Redcliffe and about to turn away from the lake when they stopped for the night in a rather tacky inn called The Lady’s Rest; it had clearly been built to take advantage of the pilgrims making their way up to the Sacred Ashes, and was bedecked with cheaply manufactured- and clearly fake- holy icons, including a tasteless little podium supporting a tiny clay jar that claimed to contain a pinch of the ashes themselves. 

If it had anything other than sand inside, Corinne would eat Vilas’ scarf. 

Sitting as it was at the junction of the lake road and the trade route into the mountains, and the first step of the pilgrim’s path towards the temple, the inn was remarkably busy; Corinne scrunched her nose up in displeasure as they crossed the threshold into the muggy common room, the noise assaulting her ears almost painfully. There was hay and vomit on the packed earth floor, and the air was thick and smoky and rank with the smell of body odour and bad ale. No different from any other tavern or roadside inn they’d stayed in so far, but after the quiet of the last few days it felt like nothing short of a siege against her senses.

She kept her back pressed to the wall as Riyo bartered for their stay- they had to double up in order to get enough rooms, and while normally she wouldn’t have objected to Vilas sharing her room with Riana, the knowledge that she would have even less space than normal made her feel claustrophobic. She wanted to climb up into the rafters and lounge up against the thatched roof, eyes turned towards the stars peeking through the smoke stained bundles, legs dangling over the room...

But she sighed, and kept her teeth snapped tight shut, and bore it all in silence. 

Hours later, when the inn was calmer- not quiet, that seemed an impossibility- she crept from her bed and over to the window, easing herself out onto the shingles and into the moonlight. As silent as a shadow she slithered over the roof and dropped the nine or so feet to the ground, landing in a crouch and pausing to make sure no one had seen her peculiar exit. Convinced she was unobserved, she rose to her full height and walked calmly around the outside of the building, the frost sharp on the ground and lifting perhaps an inch off the grass in a clinging mist. It danced out of the way as she crossed the road, heading out into the darkness opposite the inn. She walked for a few minutes, following the dips and gulleys in the land easily even in the darkness, and when she turned to look back over her shoulder she was pleased to note that she could no longer see the light of the inn. 

She was alone in the darkness, the stars sparkling between the clouds and the sky the deepest midnight velvet she had ever seen. It was quiet, and it was peaceful, and perfect.

With a relieved sigh, she dropped to a crouch, tucking her hair out of her face and then carefully placing her hands on the cold ground, the mist curling around her fingers like mischievous sprites. The grass was damp, not quite wet, and she flattened her palms down, closing her eyes and reaching out. 

She’d tried to describe the sensation to her mother once, when Nadifa had queried her daydreaming, and it had never occurred to her how complex an action was until the moment when she was fumbling for the right words to explain it. She didn’t quite leave her body, not entirely, but she let her sense of self melt away as she instead took on the immensity of the world around her. She didn’t _become_ the soil, but she could reach through it and read it and hear something that wasn’t quite a language but had a vast and complex system of meanings waiting to be unravelled. 

With her hands on the ground in a field in the Hinterlands, she let her mind wander the paths of energy that ran throughout the world. She could feel the weight of the war, the conflict flaring like red sparks across a vast distance, and the sagging heaviness that was the refugee camp near to Redcliffe- it was like a stone on a wet piece of parchment, the world slowly sinking under its’ weight and fraying and unmaking around it. Too much magic, too much despair and anger, _too much_ pressing against the fabric of the world. 

Deeper in, she could feel the oozing horror that was the remnants of the Blight, the death and corruption in the soil and the rocks, washed clean from the upper layers but still there, still waiting. The corruption still claimed crops and fields and animals, the harvests weak and malnourished even a decade on. Ferelden was healing, but slowly; the land was tired, bloated and diseased, and ten years was not enough to wash away the all-consuming death and corruption that the darkspawn left in their wake.

She concentrated harder, sending her thoughts farther afield as the land eagerly spoke to her. Flashes of life and death and prey and predator, the smell of rot and blood and grass and sap and soil, a hundred thousand life forms seething and living and pressing up into her skull and-

A hand on her shoulder knocked her slightly out of her crouch, and with a lurch she flew back into her own head; a strange gurgling noise broke past her lips as she fell back onto her ass, and then she was lying on her back on the damp grass staring up at Riana.

Riana, dearest darling Riana, guardian and bondmate and ilaalin, currently standing above her with her hands on her hips and an expression on her face that let Corinne know just how much trouble she was in. 

Corinne smiled weakly, panting shallowly; she could taste blood in her mouth, and she reached up with a shaking hand to wipe her face, the back of her hand coming away bloodied. “I can explain,” she said, surprised at how exhausted she felt. 

“Oh, can you really?” Riana asked in mock surprise. She crossed her arms over her chest, and Corinne felt the urge to shrink down into the earth to escape from her gaze. “You’ve got a good reason for sneaking out alone in the middle of the night, in a country full of rogue templars who will quite happily murder you just for the joy of being a solitary mage, and for invoking _stupendously_ stupid amounts of power without a safety net?”

Corinne winced, still grinning. “Well, when you put it like that...” 

Sighing in frustration, Riana dropped to the ground gracefully, crossing her legs as she sat. “Sit up,” she said sternly, pulling on her arm to get her up. “If the blood pools in the back of your throat and chokes you, I’m not dragging your body back to the inn.”

“You’re my dearest and truest friend,” Corinne said, coughing a little at the taste of blood in her mouth. 

“Flattery isn’t going to help you at this point,” Riana said, tugging a handkerchief from her breast pocket and holding it up to Corinne’s face. “Here- pinch at the bridge of your nose and lean forward.”

“Which one of us has extensive training in non-magical healing?”

“Which one of us was dumb enough to overextend themselves in a field at midnight and be the one in _need_ of healing?”

Pressing the handkerchief to her nose and tilting her head towards her chest, Corinne winced slightly at the ache settling in her head. “Alright, fair enough.”

Riana was pulling further things from her belt as she watched her- a canteen, the small pouch she recognised as her dried elfroot mix, and something that looked suspiciously like a half squashed piece of the lemon tart they’d eaten with dinner. “ _You_ ,” she said ferociously, almost accusingly, “are going to let the bleeding stop, and then you are going to clean yourself up, take a pinch of elfroot, eat something so you don’t damn well faint on the way back to the inn-”

“Ria,” she said wearily.

“And you’re going to promise not to do something this stupid ever again” she finished, paying no attention to the attempt at interruption. “Honestly, how much energy were you drawing on anyway? I could actually _feel_ it, even with the amulet to dampen your presence.” 

“I was just _looking_ ,” Corinne grouched, pulling the handkerchief away momentarily before Riana very firmly pushed it back onto her face. 

“Oh, just _casually_ looking at the entire breadth of the country without a second thought for your own limitations? You’re human, Rin, and you are only capable of so much- just because you _want_ to do more doesn’t mean that you _can_.” She unscrewed the canteen and took the handkerchief away from her for a moment, tipping a measure of the water onto the fabric. Clambering onto her knees, she leaned in close to her and dabbed at her face, wiping firmly to clean away the blood. “I realise you’ve been frustrated and angry these past few weeks, but taking risks with your health and your safety is not the answer to either problem.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Oh, _stop it_ Rin.” She sat back on her haunches and put a pinch of the herbal mix into the canteen. “Are you trying to convince me, or yourself? Here, drink.”

Sufficiently chastised, Corinne meekly took a swig. When Riana rather pointedly handed her the smushed slice of tart, she accepted it quietly, slowly picking at it and forcing herself to swallow until the damn thing was nothing but crumbs.

They were quiet for a long time, until finally Riana cleared her throat and said “It is fucking _freezing_ lying here, can we _please_ go back inside?”


	2. Chapter 2

Rivain had no shortage of mountains, to be sure, and no Rivaini worth their salt would complain about the ache in their thighs and the burning in their calves after a day of scampering up and down the rigging of some half sunk sloop only floating out of sheer dumb stubbornness. But Riana also didn’t know that many Rivaini dumb enough to find themselves wading through snow knee deep in places, all while climbing a fucking mountain range so tall they blocked the fucking sun from mid afternoon onwards; if anyone had earned the right to complain about aching thighs and burning calves, she’d passed that goal post at least two days ago. 

Ferelden was... an experience. She missed the heat back home, the dry winds that came rolling from across the plains to the east, or the wild and humid storms that came surging in from the coast to smash against the sharp ridges of the mountains that lined the western shore of the archipelago. She missed being able to walk around the city in little more than some artfully placed cotton scraps and a king’s ransom in gold, tattoos dancing and shimmering under the late afternoon sun as she sparred in a dust dry courtyard, red earth caked to her sweat soaked skin.

She missed the thickness of the air, the wildness- salt and spice and brine, walking through the markets and seeing the canvas sacks full of rice and chilli and ginger, the shallow clay bowls full of mustard seeds and cinnamon and cloves. Ferelden smelled cold, something she had not really assumed had a smell prior to this journey, but she knew it undeniably now. It was a heavy smell, deep and slow and sometimes sharp as it stung the inside of her nose. 

And to be honest, it wasn’t a _terrible_ smell- at least it didn’t smell like dog constantly, like she’d been expecting. There was a wealth of stories in the air, the smell of snow and damp earth and pine and the less pleasant hints of marsh and rot. It was all so remarkably alien to her, tolerable once you’d had a few days to adjust to the cold in your lungs, but it left an ache in her for red dust and heat lines on the horizon and lazy afternoons spent napping in the shade. 

Actually, if she could just get warm again, she’d accept everything else- the smells and the weariness and the bad food and the mud and the fucking mountains. The novelty of the snow had worn off very quickly. 

“Who thought this was a good place for a summit?” Corinne grouched as she plodded along beside her, wrapping her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “Bloody spirits, how do people _live_ somewhere this cold?”

“This coming from the woman who runs out into the rain barefoot and doesn’t see a problem with leaving the bedroom window open at night,” Riana said wearily, her hands tucked deeply under her arms to find some reprieve from the faint burning she could feel in the tips of her fingers. “Stop your whining and just turn into a bear or something. We all know you want to.”

The snow was several days old at this point, and with all the traffic heading to the conclave, the road had been trampled mostly clear of the deepest drifts; in their place, however, was a treacherously slimy clay track, pockmarked with puddles that were deceptively deep and rocks that seemed to lurch out of nowhere to snag at the toes of their boots. She didn’t know whether it was better to hope for more snow to bury the slippery surface, or whether she’d regret it a half day later when her trembling legs threatened to give out from slogging through ankle deep snow. 

Beside her, Corinne snorted in amusement, dragging her thoughts back to the present. “Oh, because _no one’s_ going to be suspicious about a group of Rivaini walking up the mountain with a bear patiently plodding along beside them.”

“Who _cares_ what anyone thinks?” Vilas muttered from behind them. Like all of them, his temper had grown remarkably short in the last few days, worn ragged by the cold and exhaustion. “You’ll be warm, and I won’t have to listen to you complaining so much.”

“Your warmth and affection for me never ceases to amaze me, cousin,” Corinne said in a sing-song voice.

“Just get naked, for fuck’s sake.”

Corinne was already grinning as she pulled her bag up over her head and passed it to her. “Think I’ll get some reconnaissance done,” she said, bending down to tug her boots off; her shriek of horror a moment later when her toes touched the icy slime of the road was satisfying in ways that made her feel remarkably evil for grinning. Vilas apparently had no such qualms- he roared with laughter at her discomfort, smirking in delight when Corinne cast him a filthy look.

“If you don’t hurry, you’re going to be stark naked and pointing your bronzed ass at the next poor group to come staggering around the curve in the trail,” he said with saccharine sweetness, propping his chin up in one hand while the other supported his elbow, as if he was perusing her outfit and finding it wanting. “Assuming that’s not your goal in the first place, of course.”

“Anyone would be blessed to see my ass,” Corinne said with a roguish smile, shucking her jacket and shirt with practised speed. She was practically hopping from foot to foot by the time she shimmied out of her pants, cursing violently under her breath about the cold, and even Riana was struggling not to smile as she stood patiently beside her holding her castoffs. 

Ahead of them on the trail, the rest of the family appeared to have finally realised that the three of them had stopped and had slowed to a halt to match. Galad, a brace of rabbits bouncing over his shoulder thanks to his ever improving archery skills, cleared his throat and called back to them “Is everything alright?”

“Just some public nudity,” Riana yelled cheerfully, laughing at Corinne’s choked sound of outrage. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“You are all menaces,” Corinne muttered, tugging the amber amulet off from around her neck and tossing it towards Riana; for a brief moment, the dull sensation of her magic flared into violent brilliance, unbound by the dampening fields in the amulet, and just like she always did Riana took a sharp breath in at the phenomenon. The ability to sense magical ability was something that came with time and concentration for all ilaalin, and Riana was admittedly still a few decades off from honing that skill with any sort of precision, but with Corinne... it was like opening a door in the midst of a hurricane, and being battered by the howling ferocity of the wind and the rain and the lightning. When she wore the amulet, you could hear the storm screaming outside, but it couldn’t touch you. 

But when she took it off, and the reminder of her potential slammed into her like an avalanche...

The air around Corinne shimmered like light bouncing off of water, and a rippling, rolling shudder passed over her brown skin in a jarring, unpleasant fashion; Corinne claimed that it didn’t hurt her to shift forms, but spirits it did not _look_ like a happy process at all. Riana winced, her stomach turning over at the way flesh seethed and reshaped itself, at the way nails lengthened into claws and leathery limbs and hair gave way to sleek black feathers that bubbled up and out of her skin. 

She never looked away, of course- she was ilaalin, and she could stand the worst and most terrible of magics. Shapeshifting was not a lengthy process, by any stretch of the imagination- it only took Corinne the space of a single heartbeat to transform from a naked brown woman with an impish smile to a vaguely oversized glossy black crow. 

It didn’t sit any easier with her, even after having seen it so many times; her eyes still watered from the agonizing desire to avert her gaze from the monstrosity that defied all natural sense.

On the ground in front of her, Corinne hopped up and down, ruffling her feathers as she settled into her new form. She cawed at them, something inherently cheeky in the sound despite the fact that it was a bird call, and Riana sighed and rolled her eyes. 

“Get out of here, you feathery asshole,” she said, flicking her foot up to splash icy mud in her direction. “Before Vilas decides to turn you into a Festival mask.”

There was a horrified gasp. “Some of us have _standards_ ,” Vilas muttered from behind her. 

Corinne fluffed herself up, shaking away the flecks of mud, and then spread her wings and attempted a rather gangly running takeoff, hopping down the road until her awkward flapping gained enough lift to propel her off the ground. It was not a very majestic affair, all things considered. 

And then she was gone, catching the air currents as they surged up the side of the mountain; Riana shook her head, smiling to herself as she stuffed Corinne’s clothes into her satchel, slinging it over her other shoulder to balance it against the weight of her own bag. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” Vilas said, falling into step beside her. He was limping slightly, favouring his left leg, and from the way he held his weight she guessed that it had to be blisters, rather than any more severe injury. His lips were chapped from the cold, too, and his kohl was smudged and streaky around his eyes; they’d all stopped caring several days ago, but she could usually count on Vilas to be her equal when it came to maintaining a certain standard of appearance. “Trotting around after her, weathering her mood swings-”

“I’ll take her caustic moods over your melodrama any day, cousin,” Riana said pointedly, setting off up the trail to where the rest of the family waited. “Rin might be tiresome, but at least I never have to worry about her waking me in the middle of the night asking if she can borrow my bed for sex.”

“That was _one_ time and you never let it go.”

“Oh, _goodness_ , I wonder _why_.” 

She rolled her eyes good naturedly, sharing a grin with Riyo as she drew even with them and left Vilas trailing behind. They smiled in return, the expression gentle, and held out their hand in offer to take the extra bag. Riana shook her head, her smile turning weary. 

“You’ve already got your own bag, zazi. Don’t worry on my account.”

“Oh, so I’m not to worry about helping my own daughter now?” They chuckled, but accepted her refusal with a nod. “You’ve not got a need to prove yourself in this company, macan. We’ll always help when you need a hand to carry you along.”

“I know that,” she said, slipping a little on the muddy track and only just keeping her balance. Around them the pines crowded close to the road; sometimes the branches were thick enough to form a roof over their heads. The weak afternoon light made the sky above them glow, the beams of sunlight bouncing off the snow and cutting through the gaps in the peaks like golden spears, and occasionally the snow was picked up by the eddies in the wind, swirling shapes visible in the sky for a heartbeat before settling back against the slope again. 

And above it all, in the immense blue of the sky, Corinne soared overhead in dizzyingly flamboyant turns.

Riana sighed.

“Something on your mind, macan?”

“She’s miserable,” Riana said, sighing again as she watched the tiny dot loop and dive across the sky. “She won’t talk to me about it, but she’s miserable.”

“She’s struggling to let go of some very insular world views, and wounded pride is a painful injury indeed.” Riyo hefted the bag higher on their broad shoulders, strolling along at an easy gait; they still seemed unaffected by the cold and the weariness, not to mention the elevation. Samira had been crying on and off all day, and Asha had been wan and irritable since last night, unable to do more than pick at her breakfast. Riyo, by comparison, seemed only mildly winded, even when the roads were at their worst and the winds threatened to push them back downhill. “She is used to not having to justify her independence, or contrast it against the suffering of others, and she reels back from the implication that her ignorance has made her complicit.”

Riana huffed out a laugh. “You are remarkably perceptive for one who does not share the bond with her, zazi,” she said ruefully. 

Riyo laughed as well. “I’ve been ilaalin for most of my life, macan,” they said, wry amusement in their tone. “But more importantly, I’ve raised several daughters to adulthood. Her frustrations are valid, but they’re not precisely a great mystery.”

She batted them on the shoulder. “Zazi, you can’t just smugly proclaim to understand all young women just because you happened to have been lucky enough to parent a few.”

“I _am_ lucky,” they said, tossing a charming grin her way. “Such clever, beautiful daughters to be blessed with.”

“If you think that flattery will get you out of it-”

“It always has before.”

“Oh, you are a _menace_.”

“I am a humble and respected pillar of the community, devoted only to my womenfolk,” Riyo said, winking when she rolled her eyes at them. 

With the sun already hidden by the peaks, the temperature began to drop rapidly; Riana would have guessed it to be only mid to late afternoon, and it annoyed her to an irrational extent knowing they would be forced to cut the day short yet again. The shorter days and longer nights bemused her, and she longed for the languid evenings in the north where the sun still lingered until well after supper, and the heat carried over well into the next dawn.

What she wouldn’t give to just be sitting down on the beach at midnight again, counting shooting stars and eating herself sick on coconut rice dumplings, watching her cousins dance around the fire and laughing until she cried at their antics. Instead she was halfway up a frozen mountain at the far end of the world, shivering as the shadows grew longer, wondering if her calves would ever stop burning and wondering exactly how much of a failure she was as an ilaalin that she couldn’t even comfort or confront her best friend adequately. 

A shout came from ahead, nothing sinister in the sound, but it dragged her attention back to the present and out of memories of saltwater on her skin and sticky syrup over her fingers. Asha was half jogging back down the trail towards them, her pack thumping noisily at her hip as a counterpart to the crunch of her footsteps.

“There’s a clearing about five minutes ahead,” she said as she drew up to the group, putting her hands on her knees as she bent over to catch her breath. “It’s mostly free of snow, bit muddy- looks like a lot of the other travellers through the area have been using it too.” 

Leylo looked up at the sky, then over Asha’s shoulder to peer up the trail. Sighing, she said “It is to everyone’s benefit if we stop early for the night. We should reach Haven tomorrow- it cannot hurt to have a few more hours of rest.”

And audible groan of relief rippled through the group, giving way to laughter when Leylo put her hands on her hips and gave them all a knowing look. “Don’t be giving me that attitude, family,” she said warningly, a smile tugging at her lips as her accent thickened to sound more like home. “You’d think you’d never worked a day in your life, lazy children.”

“She got that matriarch voice on,” Vilas said with exaggerated dread. “Y’all watch out before she go tugging on your ear for a scolding.”

“Have you done anything to warrant me tugging on your ear, ilmaha?” Leylo asked pointedly, gesturing in a wide circle with one hand while the other stayed firmly planted on her hip. 

Vilas very carefully positioned himself on the far side of the group, his obvious dance of avoidance drawing snickers of amusement from the rest of the family. “Darling aayadaa, you are looking so fine this beautiful afternoon-”

“Child, you are asking for an old lady to set you to dishes duty for the rest of the trip.”

At Vilas’ slack jawed horror, the rest of them burst into fits of laughter, and Riana felt herself relax; Rivain was a long way behind them, but in that moment despite the cold and the mud, it felt like being home again. Everyone had been so careful with their manners, so careful with their speech and their habits for most of the trip so as not to draw too much attention to themselves in the midst of a war zone- the occasional lapse into the teasing banter she’d come to expect from home eased the worst of the homesickness, even when she didn’t know she needed it. 

If only she could find a patch of sunlight and laze about in the heat with a bowl of sweet spiced mango pieces, she could close her eyes and pretend she really was home. 

As they drew closer to the promised rest stop, a loud cawing came from overhead and Riana held out her arm out of instinct. A moment later a weight all but crashed into it, and a wing half cuffed her over the back of the head as Corinne came tumbling down on top of her. 

“ _Ay!_ Fuck, Rin!” she cursed, keeping her arm relatively steady only with extreme effort. “Maybe don’t make yourself the size of a fucking dog next time, eya?”

Even through the thick leather jacket she could feel the sharp pinch of her claws around her forearm, and she glared fiercely. The oversized crow on her limb squawked sheepishly- if a crow was capable of such a sound- and made some sort of attempt to preen her hair for her. Laughing, Riana rolled her eyes. “You’re not as charming as you think you are,” she said, “and you’re going to ruin my coat if you stay there any longer.”

With another rattling caw, Corinne hopped down, wings flapping for a brief moment until the shift rippled over her; the rest of the family knew better than to stare, politely continuing up the trail. Even if none of them had an issue with her nudity, it was a moment of great vulnerability for her, and startlingly intimate as well. That she was comfortable enough to shift around them was a sign of great trust on her part, but the gifts of a mage were something that demanded discretion and respect. Every Rivaini knew that, not just those called to serve as ilaalin. 

After a moment of stomach turning body horror, Corinne was human again, crouched on the ground with her hair tangled wildly around her head. “ _Fuck_ , it’s freezing down here.”

“Really? Amidst all this snow? I had no idea.”

“Oh, aren’t you in a good mood,” Corinne said, rubbing her arms fiercely to stimulate warmth in them, eagerly snatching up her clothes as Riana fished them out of the satchel and passed them to her. “I was coming down to tell you about a clearing I saw-”

“About five minutes walk?” Riana asked, holding her steady as she hopped on one foot to get her pants back on. “Asha scouted ahead and found it; plan is to stop for the night.”

“Spirits be praised,” Corinne muttered, pulling her boots back on as quickly as possible. 

They caught up to the rest of the family a half minute later; Corinne tied her hair back as they jogged, her fingers flying nimbly as she fought through the snarls and tangles to pull it back in a hasty approximation of a braid. 

The promised clearing appeared a few minutes later, wide enough for several wagons to camp comfortably, and more than enough space for their needs. Leylo sighed wearily as she inspected it, taking in the mud and the turned earth filled with puddles; glancing over her shoulder, she looked apologetically to Corinne. “I hate to impose, macan,” she said, “but...?”

Yawning widely, Corinne flapped her hand in her direction. “No, no, it’s fine,” she said. “I’ve got it.”

She wandered into the centre of the clearing, the snow mostly cleared away from frequent use over the last few days, but the area filthy and muddy and cold. It was obvious the moment she attuned herself to the world around her- the slouch eased in her shoulders, her steps became lighter, and far more careful. From one heartbeat to the next she went from exhausted traveller to curious witch, an eerie sort of grace guiding her movements as she found the centre of the clearing and turned slowly. Her eyes were distant, dark as onyx as she lifted her arms almost heavily, as if she were pushing them through snow or turned earth. 

She kept turning, spinning in a painfully slow circle, and as she did the air around her began to thicken like mist, frost sparkling and swirling through the clearing and steaming upwards from the churned earth. With agonising care she dragged her hands back towards her chest, her fingers curling inwards as if she was slowly shaping a ball between them; the ice rushed towards her, obscuring her from view for a brief moment, before coalescing between her outstretched fingers, contracting further downwards until it was naught but a fragile, compact orb of ice, hovering between her palms. 

The clearing was dry, the slush and puddles gone, and the air around her shimmered with the force of her careful control over the frost. 

When she looked up at them again, her eyes were warm again, brown and soft and deep instead of brittle and dark and glittering; she grinned, clearly delighted with herself, and the crystalline orb fell out of the air into her waiting hand. “Who’s up for a friendly game of Gilay?” she asked, eyes sparkling mischievously as she tossed the ice ball up into the air and caught it again. “I’ll take ice court.” 

“Let’s count all the mages present and see how likely it is that we can get a game going,” Vilas said pointedly as he wandered forward into the now bone-dry clearing. 

“But I’m at a disadvantage,” Corinne said, clearly ridiculously pleased with herself as she passed the ice ball from hand to hand. “I never take ice court.” 

“And there’s nobody here who’s foolish enough to agree to a Gilay match with one of the most powerful elementalists in all of Rivain,” Galad said, laughing as she tossed the ball in his direction and caught it carefully. 

“You’re all no fun.”

With a dry clearing to settle into, they all took advantage of the opportunity to change their clothes and empty the slush from their boots, laying their outfits out on a hastily rigged line near the fire in the hope they’d be dry for the morning. It was still cold, even if the ground was dry, and there were more than a few hissed curses when bare feet hit the soil. Even with Leylo’s wards in place, there would still be a fine layer of frost over everything come the sunrise, so it was best to take advantage of the brief reprieve from the cold and damp while they could. 

After helping Galad and Asha to skin and gut the brace of rabbits, Riana wandered across the camp to where Corinne sat cross legged on her bedroll, a large book lying open beside her while her overburdened notebook sat in her lap, a box of broken charcoal lengths sitting in front of her. She was a million miles away already, immersed in whatever she was comparing between the two books, and she’d already managed to smear a streak of black charcoal dust over her chin. 

Riana dropped down opposite her, legs stretching out into the dirt. “What are you writing?” she asked brightly, trying to inject a measure of cheerfulness that she certainly didn’t feel after a day of slogging through the snow and the cold and the buried roadways. 

Corinne didn’t even glance up from where she worked, a frown on her face as she drummed her current charcoal piece against the side of the open page. “I’m thinking,” she said, her voice terse and distracted. 

“I can _see_ that,” Riana said pointedly, stopping short of rolling her eyes. “What are you _thinking_ about?”

She tapped the open book beside her, the one that the Arlessa had given her before they’d left Redcliffe and which she’d voraciously poured over every evening since. “There’s a species of lupin listed in here as endemic to the south-eastern parts of the Southern Wilds, and the author has allocated it to the genus _lupinus_ , but their observations of the plant were based purely on a dried specimen traded to them by a Chasind merchant. I mean, the picture itself is _clearly_ just the author’s interpretation of what the plant would look like in flower, rather than through any empirical evidence itself given the ruinous state of the original specimen, and I-”

“You lost me after ‘species’,” Riana said.

Corinne rolled her eyes. “You _asked_ ,” she said.

“I wasn’t expecting a lecture, spirits.” She leaned back on her hands, rolling her head from side to side to work out the ache in her shoulders. “You’re just as bad as Luula was.”

“I’m frowning because it upsets me that this can passed off as legitimate science,” Corinne said in disgust, flipping the book closed. “Do you suppose this is the sort of thing they use in the Circles? To teach the mages, I mean. Outdated textbooks with only vaguely researched content?”

“Well, I mean, it’s not like any of them would know any better- how many of them do you think they let go wandering off into the wilds all by their lonesome just to go look for a leek?”

“A lupin.”

“Yeah, well, if they stick them in a tower their whole lives how are they supposed to tell the difference exactly?”

“Well, _I_ can tell the difference, just from looking at a badly drawn picture- I’ll accept the _fabaceae_ family classification, sure, but given the colder climate that far south and the presumed brackishness of the water in the marshes that close to the coast, I’m just flummoxed as to why his immediate assumption was lupin when the more obvious choice would be something from the _lotae_ genus-”

Riana groaned and flopped onto her back, covering her face with her hands. “Rin...”

“What? He’s _wrong_ , and I need to fix this-”

“We are not going to go wading through the swamps at the ass end of the world just so you can go and find a lettuce.”

“ _It’s not a lettuce!_ ”

“If we’re yelling about salad vegetables, it’d actually be really helpful if you could find something to go with dinner,” Asha yelled from her place over by the fire; she had dragged a flat stone over to the fire side and had piled embers around it, and there was a bubbling smear of batter atop it that she was carefully smoothing out with her knife. As the flatbread cooked, Galad was tossing pieces of the rabbits into a shallow clay dish that held the last of their dried chilli; the sharp peppery scent already burned the air, and the sizzle of the meat as he set it over the fire was apparently cause for celebration, given the way Galad moved to a silent beat with a grin on his face. “I don’t know if anything vaguely edible grows somewhere this cold, but-”

“I found you some watercress just yesterday in that freezing stream- what in the Void did you do with it?”

“Uh, we ate it? And ain’t no one else here can talk to plants, so if we go out stumbling through the woods cooing for onion, we’ll look like asses.”

“Oh, like I won’t? And I do not _coo_.”

Riana made an exaggerated wincing noise. “Ooh, but you sort of _do_ , macan,” she said with false sympathy.

Grumbling under her breath, Corinne levered herself to her feet, dusting the charcoal from her fingers but apparently still oblivious to the smear on her face. She stomped off towards the treeline, making rude gestures behind her back as Riana laughed at her tantrum. 

The camp settled into the night time rituals, and Riana stretched out to watch, her muscles slowly unwinding as she drooped onto her back to daydream as the sky above them darkened to purple velvet; she wondered vaguely how that colour would look as a dirac, and made a note to ask Niino about sewing something for her when they were back home again. 

Rivain felt a million leagues away, but a girl could still dream. 

Someone called her name and she groaned and propped herself up onto her elbows, looking around for the disturbance. On the opposite side of the fire, Riyo was waving to get her attention.

She sighed. “Really?” she called.

“We have many things to discuss before we reach Haven tomorrow,” they called back, their smile never faltering. Riyo was good like that- they never raised their voice, never snapped or scolded in anger. They were always remarkably soft and patient. “Come, Ria. A half hour of meditation will do you good.”

Levering herself to her feet with a groan, Riana rubbed wearily at her aching neck as she wandered over to the far side of the clearing where Riyo waited on their practice mats. The weight of carrying them was justified in that they made excellent padding between the cold ground and the bedrolls, so the extra use made it worth it. “The next week or so is going to be remarkably stressful,” Riyo said, gracefully lowering themself down into a sitting position. “Your mother and your cousin will be expected to maintain the highest of standards at all times, all while remaining civil and intelligent and courteous. They are, for better or for worse, the face of the north and the free mages.”

“Mother said that there will be other groups attending,” Riana said, crossing her arms. “She said that there were others on the council sending their own representatives.”

“And so we should look to these others to take the lead? We can let our guard down and expect them to uphold the pride of Rivain?”

Riana scowled. “Alright, alright, I see your point.”

“Sit down,” Riyo said, gesturing once again to the space opposite them. “Clear your mind for a time- it is not just our mages who must prepare to face scrutiny.”

“I cannot _wait_ ,” she said sarcastically.

“As ilaalin, we give our lives in the service of others,” Riyo said quietly, their hands resting comfortably on their knees as if she hadn’t just interrupted rudely. “It is never an easy path to walk, but it is a rewarding one.”

Riana sighed and dropped down opposite them. “I _know_ , Riyo,” she said quietly, settling herself into the same pose. “I’ve been working towards this my entire life.”

“And you’ve been doing an excellent job these past nine years, macan, despite your late start,” they said, smiling gently. “But you have never been asked to perform such duties for the sake of a critical and potentially aggressive audience. For the coming week, you are ilaalin in every sense of the word- you are a guardian and a sentinel, a friend and a warrior. You must live and breathe the bond, and show the strength an ilaalin carries in their heart.”

Her stomach fluttered a little unhappily at that. “Riyo...” she began slowly, unsure of how exactly to go about voicing her unease.

“Shh, macan. Come- breathing exercises. Clear your mind.”

She let her head droop towards her chest, and breathed out slowly through her mouth. 

“Now focus- let your mind find peace as you centre yourself on the bond.”

Riana closed her eyes, falling into the rhythmic breathing almost instantly; in through the nose, out through the mouth. She felt her heart beat slow, and her body grow light and distant. The sounds of the camp faded away, and even her pulse was a dull and faraway beat, heard like a drum underwater. 

Her mind slowly emptied to a pleasant nothingness, and she drifted quietly, absent from her body as she sought the bond. 

“ _Focus_.”

And there it was- a subtle tremor in her body, a shiver passing through her flesh as her thoughts solidified again and locked onto the disturbance. A second heart beat, slightly out of time with her own, sharper and brighter and enough to make her shudder at the power that pulsed in the body it belonged to. 

“Do you have the bond?”

The old scar on her hand ached, the wound made on the day she had taken her vows and embraced Corinne not just as a cousin but as a bonded warrior, bound to serve and protect and cherish one another until such a time as their paths diverged. 

“I have the bond,” she murmured, breathing out slowly through her mouth as her heart beat slowly settled into a matching tempo with Corinne’s. 

She felt Riyo’s hands on her shoulders. “Good,” they said. “On your feet- let us begin.”

Riana clambered back to her feet, shaking out her limbs and rolling her head from side to side, the second heartbeat still pulsing through her and making her feel alive and giddy and _wild_. There was so much energy within her, so much potential, and she wanted to leap about and dance and fight and writhe with the ecstatic feel of it all. 

Riyo’s hand was on her shoulder again, an anchor keeping her feet on the ground when all she wanted to do was fly. “Steady, macan,” they said warningly, squeezing for a moment before stepping around in front of her. “Centre yourself.”

She was breathing heavily, power crawling under her skin as she fought to reign in the potential of two beings. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice wobbling slightly and exposing her lie. 

Their gentle laughter made her cheeks flush in chagrin. “By all means, then,” they said, bending their knees slightly as they stood before her and brought their arms up level to their chest, fists loosely pressed together, “would you like to take the lead?”

She swallowed, jaw clenched tight as she fought down the euphoria that wanted to send her wits flying off into the aether. “I’m okay,” she repeated, and this time she felt a greater sense of certainty when she said it. Adopting a matching stance to them, she bowed her head in respect and breathed out slowly, the bond finally settling under her control. “I follow your guidance, as always.”

Riyo nodded their head in acknowledgement, and a moment later took the first step in a slow and complex dance that Riana had memorised when she was a girl with loose teeth and skinned knees. It was an ancient ritual, part meditation and part battle dance, an exercise designed to hone the focus and core strength of ilaalin, as deadly as it was beautiful. 

The vitaa ka fakiri- the warrior’s dance. 

She could have danced it in her sleep, so well she knew it, and she followed Riyo’s lead without a moment’s hesitation. “In the face of pride, I offer my humility,” Riana murmured, flowing through the motions of the exercise. “Let my heart rest at peace, in the knowledge that I am only human, and never infallible.”

Riyo nodded encouragingly, half a second ahead of her in the steps.

“In the face of despair, I offer my hope. Let my soul sing with joy, in the knowledge that there is always a tomorrow, and always an answer.”

With a nod of warning, Riyo adjusted the speed of the motions, taking the exercise from defensive maneuvers to aggressive attacking. 

Riana nodded and moved to match them, following the rhythm of the dance that she’d known for most of her days. “In the face of rage, I offer my calm,” she said, her steps quickening as she sought to keep up with her parent’s lead. “Let my mind still with quiet, in the knowledge that a flame without fuel will flicker to naught.”

For a moment she held off on the next few verses, concentrating on keeping her footing on the uneven ground as she blocked and dodged and danced and flowed around Riyo’s attacks, breathing heavily as she responded in kind. The dull thud of each pulled strike was loud enough to draw the attention of the rest of the family, most of whom glanced their way in interest before turning back to their chores. Riana was in no way a match for Riyo, but even two unequal ilaalin could make the warrior’s dance look like a majestic hurricane of scarcely contained violence and power.

She was a force of nature, and she felt for that brief moment like she could conquer the world.

Riyo let out a wordless shout, a huffed roar to push the air from their lungs, and snapped back into the starting position. Riana followed, the shout pulsing from her and making her skin tingle as she held herself in place and let the moment hang between them.

And then Riyo was bowing to her, murmuring under their breath as they reached for a towel beside the mat. “Good,” they said, rubbing at their face before offering her the cloth. “You’re doing quite well for having been travelling for so many weeks. You haven’t lost your edge at all.”

Panting, slowly coming down from the high of the dance, Riana slowly eased her grip on the connection to Corinne, shoulders sagging as the echo of the second heartbeat left her with only her own frantic pulse. “I haven’t been the friend and counsel she has needed,” she said, towelling the sweat from her neck. “She’s been distracted, and I have not been her guidance.”

Riyo smiled ruefully. “We are only human, macan,” they said, pulling one arm across their body to stretch it. “As much as we strive to be the perfect guardian, we will always fall short. Your inability to connect with Corinne is something to work on, true, but it is not a failing on your part.”

“But-”

“We give of ourselves freely, to benefit the community,” Riyo said kindly, “and that is where Corinne is struggling. Even after all the time she has spent with the with our family, learning the ways of our people and the way we govern ourselves and support one another, she has a wildness to her. It is a phenomenal task asked of you, to keep pace with her and contain a mage of her strength, and you outdo our expectations each and every day.” 

Riana grinned awkwardly, her cheeks heating. “That’s high praise from you, zazi,” she said, feeling like a girl proudly presenting a chalk drawing to the family. 

Sliding one hand into her hair, Riyo kissed her firmly on the forehead, laughing when she squawked in surprise. “Never doubt the pride I take in you,” they said, letting their hand fall to her shoulder instead. “As ilaalin, you are many things to Corinne. You must be her friend, and her guardian, but you must also be her keeper. You are bound to her, as she is to you, and you have never once chafed at the pressure nor faltered in your path. You are ilaalin, and a fine one at that.”

From the far side of the clearing, Corinne lurched out of the bushes holding aloft an armful of peculiar looking greens, a ruthless cry of victory on her lips. “I don’t know if these taste any good, but they aren’t poisonous,” she said, staggering over to the fire side and dumping them beside Galad. 

At the amused looks she got, she rolled her eyes and put one hand on her hip. “Don’t worry, I asked them _very_ politely,” she said sarcastically. “They definitely won’t kill us.”

Glancing at Riyo, Riana felt only slightly soothed at the encouraging look on their face. “Go to her,” they said, taking back the towel and slinging it over their shoulder. “Even if you do not wish to discuss it with her now, it is always best to establish a connection again after the vitaa ka fakiri- you need to ground yourself, if nothing else.”

Squeezing her shoulder encouragingly, Riyo smiled and wandered over to where Leylo was still quietly absorbed in her own meditations; Riana watched as Riyo flopped down beside her on the bedrolls, taking in the tiny smile that played over her mother’s lips as Riyo reached out to tangle their fingers in the hem of her skirts.

Connection. It was such a little thing, such small gestures in the grand scheme of things, but it centred the two of them, drew them closer together in the quiet, and it made them stronger. Little things to build a lifetime together, and abruptly it made her heart ache to think of all the moments she had missed with Corinne.

Her cousin had returned to her books, her nose scrunched up in annoyance as she flicked between the pages.

Riana all but tackled her from behind, slumping down behind her and slinging her arms over her shoulders, burying her face in the curve of her neck as Corinne shouted in surprise before trailing off on a shaky laugh. 

“Hello you,” she said, reaching up to run her hand along Riana’s arm. “Did you have fun dancing? It felt like you enjoyed yourself.” When she didn’t answer immediately, she felt Corinne’s mood shift from amused to concerned. “Ria?”

She didn’t answer, just pressed her face against her throat and breathed her in. There was sweat on her skin, just enough to be clammy in the cold afternoon air, and it was a cool relief against the heat still lingering in her muscles. 

Corinne ran a hand up into her hair, fingers rubbing soothing circles on her neck. “What’s gotten into you?”

Riana grumbled wordlessly, slithering over her shoulder to flop onto the bedroll beside her, grunting in annoyance when the corner of one of the books stabbed her in the hip. “I’m just... moody,” she said lamely.

“About what?”

She hesitated. “One day, it’s very likely that you’ll meet someone that you want to spend a good part of your life with, and if they have even an ounce of respect for you, it’s likely they’ll try to walk the path of the ilaalin.”

Corinne stiffened in surprise, clearly not having expected such a severe turn of conversation from her, and then sighed softly. “Ria...”

“We both know it’s not something we can rule out,” she said, charging onwards. “Even if you’re not inclined to seek out marriage or a relationship leading to marriage, it might happen. And if you have no intention of staying long term in Rivain...”

“I would never ask you to abandon our family to follow me,” Corinne said quickly, reaching out to take her hand. “I would never want you to suffer for my sake.”

Riana smiled sadly. “I know you wouldn’t,” she said, “but I also can’t walk away from my responsibilities. Living without you this past year was almost unbearable- I couldn’t do that again without setting aside my vows first, and I couldn’t do that either.” 

Corinne looked utterly miserable, struggling to look up and meet her gaze. “I’ll do better,” she said softly.

Riana squeezed her hand, waiting until she looked up. “We’ll _both_ do better,” she said pointedly. “And I’ll follow wherever you lead.”

She was pensive for a long moment, indecision waging in her dark eyes, before she nodded brusquely. “There’s no need to follow,” she said firmly. “We go together, in all things. I won’t ever ask more of you than I would give in return.”

It was not a perfect compromise for either of them, but it was something. It was a little thing, a little moment upon which a life could be built. When they fell asleep together later, sharing blankets and warmth to guard against the mountain frost, the comfort of their twin heartbeats was another little memory to hold dear. 

The final morning of their journey dawned bright and cold, and Leylo roused them all from their bedrolls with a cheer that seemed almost insulting given their weariness and their miserable reactions to the frost. “We will reach Haven by lunch time,” she said, stoking the fire with an easy wave of her hands, sparks and soot dancing into the air at her gesture. 

Yawning widely, Riana crawled out from beneath the blankets with a groan. “What’s the plan?” she asked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“We go in prepared for war,” Leylo said with a wolfish smile, the fire silhouetting her in a burst of light and heat.

Not a subtle indication of her mother’s excitement, really. 

Niino was an artisan when it came to henna, and Riana was smugly happy to accept the fact that her own skills were not that far short of her cousin’s; while Galad polished all of the larger pieces of jewellery until they sparkled, Niino sat patiently before each woman in the party, painting fantastically intricate whorls and lines over their arms and hands with her bright metallic dyes. Riyo fixed their own locs with coconut oil, rolling them back into neat ropes where the wind and the rain had irritated them into messy frizz, before settling down behind Riana to set hers for her. 

“Do we have any blue hair dye left?” she asked over her shoulder, doing her best to stay absolutely still as Niino traced the most delicate pattern imaginable over her palms with golden henna.

“Your mother is mixing it up now for you,” Riyo said with a chuckle, their fingers firm but nimble as they rolled her hair tightly back into place.

Beside her, Asha was helping Corinne to thread her hair with jade and amber beads, the green a glorious contrast to the richness of her colouring, while the amber flashed like fire when it caught the sunlight. Vilas was polishing his knives, the blades so bright they almost glowed, and the silver of his tattoos matched so perfectly it was as if by magic.

When they were ready, they glittered with enough extravagance to make a dragon jealous, with all the finery one could expect at the height of festival season after their days of fasting were at an end. Leylo had insisted that, if they were there to represent the Rivaini way of things, then they would let no one mistake them for anything but the proudest and most defiant of northerners. So they sparkled under the weak winter sun like a treasure hoard, bold and colourful and loud. 

Let none forget the spirit of Rivain, Leylo urged them, and let none forget that their mages still stood even after the Chantry came at them as the foreign aggressors. 

Riana wanted to say that she felt even a fraction of her mother’s confidence, but she knew it was a lie. But she kept her head held high and the smile on her face as they made the last leg of the journey and finally crested the last rise to see the archway between the mountains bedecked in banners and bunting and guarded by men and women in fine armour stamped with Chantry insignia. They were no longer the only travellers on the road, and the guards all nodded politely as they passed, eyeing them curiously as they took in their jewellery and tattoos and colourful garb. 

“You can come by my tent later if you want a closer look,” Vilas purred to one of the guards, startling him into blushing a crimson so bright it was a wonder he didn’t swoon. The laughter of his fellows ushered them through the massive portal between the hills, and as they passed through and into the valley beyond, Riana felt a surge of relief to realise that they had finally fucking made it. 

She wanted to say that it had a relatively festive atmosphere, but that was probably a bit too charitable; there was certainly a charge in the air, tension and excitement and fear and anger and probably a thousand emotions in between. Haven was overflowing, the tiny little village far too small to ever have been a sensible choice for such an immense gathering, and most people seemed to be trailing further up the mountain path towards the summit, winding between the slope before vanishing higher still between the peaks. 

An isolated hamlet in the middle of nowhere in the freezing cold- could there possibly be anywhere less sensible for a conclave that would shake the foundations of the world as they knew it?

“But what _would_ have been a sensible choice, macan?” Leylo said when she voiced her amusement aloud. “The mages would have asked for Cumberland, or Redcliffe, both places with a measure of strength and support for them, whereas the templars would have insisted upon Val Royeaux. Choosing a holy site offers a measure of compromise to both, and rather firmly enforces the peacefulness of such a gathering.”

“Mm, because nothing says peaceful like armed soldiers running drills,” Riana said drily as they passed the camp grounds outside the gates. 

“Don’t you go complaining and ruining the scenery for the rest of us,” Vilas scolded. “If you aren’t gonna look, then step aside.”

Riana barked out a laugh. “By all means, have your fill of the pasty southern boys.”

“Don’t forget I have to find one for Corinne, too.”

Beside her, Corinne flicked her hand subtly, and a rock dislodged itself ever so slightly from the worn surface of the road, just enough to catch at his foot when he went to step forward. He went sprawling into the dirt, and the filthy look he threw them was enough to have them both howling with laughter, clutching at their sides until there were tears in their eyes.

Wiping away the tears on her cheeks, Riana noticed the moment Corinne happened to glance at the training grounds as they passed, and for a moment found her attention caught by a soldier in heavy furs and armour staring in her direction. Glancing past her cousin to look closer at him, she guessed by his stature and the way the other soldiers parted around him, flowing around him like a river forced to make way for an island, that he was some sort of officer- not that she understood what forces, if any, the Chantry commanded other than the templars.

Well, not that they commanded the templars anymore. That gave her no small measure of petty satisfaction. 

Amused by the fact that the two of them were apparently oblivious to anyone else watching, she waggled her fingers in his direction, and he looked startled, almost as if he hadn’t expected to be noticed. He straightened, and turned away awkwardly, and beside her Corinne jerked in surprise. 

“He’s cute,” Riana said pointedly, laughing at the startled look on Corinne’s face. “What? I saw you looking.”

“He was staring!” she protested weakly, her cheeks colouring as she tried to pretend nothing was amiss.

“Mm, I don’t blame you for staring, macan,” Vilas said wistfully. “That’s a fine piece of southern boy right there. Why do all the Fereldan boys gotta be so big and pretty?”

“You don’t know that he’s Fereldan,” Corinne said, risking a glance back over her shoulder the moment she thought Riana wasn’t watching. 

Riana howled with laughter, wiping her eyes in merriment at the guilty look on Corinne’s face. “Cousin, _please_ , he looks like he’s got one of their damn dogs draped over his shoulders. In what other country would that possibly be considered fashionable?”


	3. Chapter 3

Ten years without snow was not enough to have dulled the memory of it completely; Kirkwall had its share of nasty weather and painful winters, to be sure, but snow was not something that had come to the Marcher city at all during his time there. At first he’d appreciated it- as the newly appointed Knight-Captain of the seat of Templar power in the east, Cullen had been required to spend far more time out of doors than he’d been used to, compared to the rather isolated years in Kinloch Hold. To even think about slogging along the Wounded Coast in knee deep snow, or to stand vigil in the courtyard of the Gallows while the flakes grew thicker in the air around him, was still enough to make him shudder at the thought, even if it never had come to pass. 

Kirkwall hadn’t been a place for snow, and in truth it hadn’t been a place for him- it had taken him a very long time to learn that lesson, and he’d hurt himself and numerous others in the process of learning such a lesson. 

Now he was back in the snow again, in the mountains not all that many days ride from home- if the concept of home should be taken as a place he had lived as a boy, and not the numerous odd beds he had found himself sleeping in these past few months- and he found that he did not mind the cold, really. It kept him alert, kept him focussed, and for the first time in ten years he could actually appreciate the vibrancy of the world around him. 

The cold was sharper, crisp and almost painful in his lungs first thing in the mornings, and the smells were far clearer too; the acrid taste of woodsmoke on his tongue when he inhaled, the more pleasing scent of the pines... it’d been a long time since he’d been able to experience the world with such clarity, free of the influence of the lyrium leash. 

Or, at least, as free as he could be while trying to break clean away from the stranglehold an addictive drug had upon his life. The world might suddenly be more vibrant, but it was a great deal more distracting; it was a great frustration to him trying and failing so often to maintain his concentration and focus, and to find himself daydreaming when more pressing issues demanded his attention. 

And Maker, the way the sunlight bounced off the snow banks could give him a headache in two minutes flat, these days.

But it was worth it- it _had_ to be worth it, in the end. He would take every foul morning with an aching head after another night of bad dreams, and every mild embarrassment throughout the day that came from forgetting halfway through a task what it was he was doing, if it meant he was free to be his own man again, free to follow his own path and his own moral compass without fear that his addiction would force him back into line with a dogma that went against everything he believed in. 

So he’d take the glare off the snow and the headaches that followed after, if it meant that for a short time he’d have a chance to marvel at the way the light sparkled in the mist, and it meant he was a free man. 

Although admittedly he could do without the moments when the icy slush crept into his boots. 

Haven was a veritable riot of activity, the town itself overflowing with pilgrims making the trek to the holy temple despite the impending conclave- he was told it was rare indeed for the roads into the mountains to not be busy with visitors, regardless of the season. Even the most intense of winter squalls had a hard time deterring the faithful, apparently, and a gathering of this gravity only seemed to make the pilgrimage all the more appealing.

He rubbed wearily at his jaw as he walked along the perimeter of the practice field, feeling the stubble scraping at his palm and wondering whether it was bad enough to warrant leaving the recruits to their own devices while he went to tidy himself up. Once upon a time he wouldn’t even have questioned it- his devotion to the templar order had bordered on the obsessive in his younger, angrier days, and to even think about appearing unkempt in public would have been the greatest shame imaginable. 

Of course, he couldn’t exactly laugh at his younger self for his fastidious preoccupation with appearances- old vanities died hard, as evidenced by his careful attention to his hair each morning. 

For days now, he’d stood a cautious vigil by the gates to Haven, watching the ragged stream of mages and templars and pilgrims and curious onlookers and ambitious merchants who had made the arduous trek into the mountains to attend Divine Justinia’s conclave, standing with arms crossed and sword within easy reach should the uncomfortable truce be threatened at any point. 

Haven had never been a truly sensible choice for a gathering of this magnitude, but at least the Temple of Sacred Ashes had no end of vast vaulted halls and labyrinthine corridors to protect most from the worst of the weather. Granted, the event had grown far beyond their expectations so far, with tents and pavilions springing up in the courtyards and along the winding roadside, bestowing an almost festive atmosphere on the proceedings with the riot of colours and the flares of magic and the smells of a hundred fires cooking a hundred different meals. 

The tavern in Haven itself was packed to capacity every night, and most of every day, and he’d heard rumours about dwarven merchants with wagons full of ale barrels making a fortune up on the mount itself- although how they consistently managed to sneak such a prize past his soldiers continued to elude them all. 

There were peddlers selling pseudo religious trinkets, and conmen offering up false hope in the form of elaborately fake wards and safeguards, promising nervous mages that their cheaply manufactured jewellery could certainly protect them against templar anti-magics, while selling the very same baubles to gullible templars after reassuring them they could certainly guard them against _all_ forms of hostile magic. He’d had his soldiers confiscate and destroy those they could find, and he’d even had two men escorted out of Haven and a few hours down the road, making no secret of the fact that their charlatan act was not appreciated.

It was tense and inappropriately jubilant at times, as if the opposing factions took great delight in taunting the other by indulging in immensely questionable displays of merriment. He fell into bed each night with a headache more often than he didn’t, but... it was worth it. He could feel it in the air, the winds of change, and he knew that as difficult as some days were, they were doing a great thing here. 

The world itself would be changed irrevocably by what they achieved here. 

So he maintained the peace of the gathering with the small contingent of forces they had- men and women who had pledged their lives to the Chantry, not so much a holy army as a ragtag collection of the eager faithful, career soldiers and disillusioned templars who had quietly made their way to them over the preceding months. He’d done his best to shape them into something better, a graceful weapon worthy of the Most Holy instead of the clumsy bludgeon they had been upon his arrival. 

And he liked to imagine that perhaps one day his devotion and dedication towards building a better world might be enough to chip away at the debt he owed for the pain he had caused and the villainy he had allowed to endure simply because he’d been too young and blind and angry to be a better man. 

He wouldn’t ever truly erase that debt, he knew that- but he would make the attempt, nonetheless. If not for himself and his own sense of honour, then for the people who had suffered as a result of his actions.

The conclave would begin officially on the morrow, and the last attendees were slowly trickling into Haven and making their way up towards the summit. He’d seen banners for every one of the mage fraternities in the past few days, hanging almost defiantly over certain corners of the camp, and a lot of the templars present were clustered into regional cliques as well, and the hostility between some of them was not particularly subtle, either. His soldiers had already broken up several shoving matches between the templars who had served at Dairsmuid and the templars of Antiva City several times, and there was certainly not a lot of solidarity with the men and women who had been serving in Ferelden, not after the near annulment of Kinloch Hold a decade earlier and the peculiar liberties that had been given to the mages in the years since at the insistence first of the Lady Cousland and later by the crown. 

In all, it had been a tense few weeks, and he didn’t for a moment believe that the conclave itself would be without incident. 

It was going to be a long and exhausting couple of days, with no guarantee that this wouldn’t stretch on into weeks or months. He did not know what the limit of Most Holy’s patience was, and what it would take for her to declare the proceedings a failure.

And after that... well. That was for the Divine herself to decide. If it came to war, he would not waver in his duties. 

A particularly rowdy group of travellers caught his attention as they passed by the main gates to Haven, their dark skin and elaborate outfits declaring them to be either Rivaini or free inhabitants of Seheron, and he smiled slightly, shaking his head in bemusement. They were hardly the strangest attendees, not with Dalish and qunari and dwarves present on the fringes of the gathering, but it was just another indication of how far reaching the outcome of this conclave would be, and how important it was that they achieved a peaceful resolution. 

They appeared to be far more relaxed than most of the travellers who passed by the gates, and when one of them stumbled and the others burst into laughter, one of the women towards the back of the group let out one of the most startling and hilarious laughs he’d ever heard. 

It was not a graceful laugh, by any stretch of the imagination- she threw her head back and howled with laughter, the weak sunlight making something in her dark hair flash like streaks of fire. She wasn’t guarded in her body language, and her happiness and her lack of concern for who should see her so open in her affections made his smile widen. There hadn’t been a lot of genuine laughter in these parts recently, and the relaxed way that she grinned and roared her amusement was... nice, in a way. 

And of course it was that moment, when he was smiling like an idiot at her private amusements with her family, when she chose to look in his direction and make eye contact. 

He froze, caught out, but he was surprised to see her own smile hold, amusement in her face as she held his gaze. She was a striking woman, and she shimmered and glittered like a king’s treasure vault, gold at her throat and flashes of colour in her hair and more still painted on her smooth brown skin in patterns that probably meant something to anyone more familiar with Rivaini culture; her appearance probably should have been intimidating, with such vibrant colours and hints at extravagance, but her smile was bright and friendly. 

Behind her, one of the other women in the party quite pointedly waggled her fingers at him with a knowing smirk on her face, and he stiffened, heat flooding into his cheeks. A heartbeat later, the first woman realised she’d been caught out and rounded on her friend with a startled expression, sending a new wave of laughter through their ranks at what was clearly her awkward attempts to defend herself for the direction of her gaze and her smile.

Laughing under his breath and rubbing at the back of his neck while he waited for the blush to leave his face, he turned back to the training yard, smiling despite himself; it was a small comfort to see a moment of genuine cheer amongst all the tension and the distrust of the last few months. He hoped for their sake at least that their optimism was rewarded, because Maker only knew how badly they all needed it. 

He watched the recruits go about their drills, barking corrections to them when they fumbled or misstepped, occasionally calling out praise when someone pulled out a particularly complicated maneuver; a runner came past at one point in the afternoon with a letter from the quartermaster, a thinly veiled exercise in sarcasm and cynicism if ever he’d seen one, and he sighed as he scribbled his response down the bottom and handed the leather folder back to the waiting messenger. 

As the afternoon sun touched the peaks along the edge of the valley, sending shadows reaching sharply over the lake and the fields and creeping towards the walls of the town like eager fingers he began to find himself fidgeting, irritable at the rapidly dropping temperature. With the shadows came the rising cold- as if it wasn’t damnably cold already- and when he found himself hiding his hands beneath his arms despite the chill his armour held, he knew it was time to admit defeat for the evening. 

His breath steamed in front of him as he made his way back through the well packed roads of the hamlet, the frozen clay crunching beneath his feet as he wearily wound his way through the crowds towards the small Chantry hall that had served as their administrative base of operations since they’d arrived several weeks ago. Divine Justinia herself had rather sumptuous quarters up in the Temple itself, along with the upper echelons of the Chantry hierarchy- the years since the Temple’s rediscovery had been spent in fervently painstaking restoration, and the inner halls were just as fine as one might expect from the Grand Cathedral itself in Val Royeaux. 

He didn’t particularly envy them for having to sleep in an ice plagued temple embedded in a mountainside, though; it was difficult enough keeping the small Chantry hall in the township warm, and although there were Loyalists who had risked the wrath of their fellows to provide heating wards throughout the ancient stone sanctuary, he was still far more content to place his trust in the heat and comfort of a woodfire and a well crafted bed warmer. 

“ _Commander_ ,” came a call from behind him, and he fought the urge to sigh as he glanced back to see the quartermaster stalking towards him, her eyes dark with annoyance. 

“Master Threnn,” he said, not pausing in his stride and swallowing down the small bubble of irritation in his chest. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Are you blighted daft?” she snapped, drawing even with him and keeping pace despite his speed. “I told you we didn’t have the damned materials for what you asked-”

“And I told you that wasn’t my problem,” he said, coming to a stop before the doors to the Chantry. “We have more soldiers, ergo we need more armour and weapons, and as quartermaster I had assumed that you could be looked to to acquire such supplies.”

“I don’t need none of your sass, Commander.”

“I’m sorry, was I mistaken? Was there perhaps someone else employed by Most Holy to procure our necessities?”

She threw her hands up in the air in immense frustration. “What you’re asking for ain’t gonna happen any time soon. We don’t have the supply lines set up-”

“Isn’t that your the entire purpose of your position? To assess the goods we need and put recommendations to our ambassador about implementing better trade agreements?”

Threnn closed her eyes, looking for all the world like she was silently counting to ten in the hope she’d calm down and not succumb to her desire to strangle him. “I cannot get you weapons and armour just because you snap your fingers and demand it so.”

He put his hand on the door to the Chantry and pushed it open. “So I’ll just tell our soldiers to put on a brave face in the meantime, shall I?”

“You are _insufferable_.” 

“I look forward to an update on our forthcoming supplies,” he called over his shoulder as he left her standing in the snow, her curses ringing in his ears as the door swung heavily closed behind him with a boom. 

He had barely made it a half dozen steps inside before a voice from his side said “She’s right, you can be ridiculously insufferable sometimes.”

Cullen glanced sideways, to the woman who emerged from the shadows near to the basement stairwell. “And a good evening to you too,” he said dryly, drawing to a halt as Leliana approached him, her hood thrown back against her shoulders and cobwebs clinging to her hair. “I thought you were up at the Temple.”

“I was fetching some things for Justinia,” she said, nodding her chin towards the pile of scrolls in her arms. “Which of course means I have the privilege of witnessing you harangue the poor beleaguered staff.”

“If you had read the tirade she wrote to me this afternoon you wouldn’t be taking her side,” he said, reaching out and plucking the worst of the cobwebs from her hair for her and flicking them onto the floor.

“Who says I’m taking her side? You’re just fun to tease, Commander.”

He rolled his eyes good naturedly. “By all means, don’t let me keep you waiting,” he said, standing to the side and gesturing magnanimously towards the door. “I’d hate to be responsible for delaying your return to Most Holy.”

“Such a _polite_ young man,” Leliana said with exaggerated cheer. She went to push the door open with her shoulder when someone pulled on it from the other side, and she righted herself without any hint that she’d lost her balance. Damnable rogues, so light on their feet- if he’d done it, it would have taken him the better part of the evening to right himself again, like some dull-witted tortoise trying to flip back onto its feet. 

She slid through the open door with ease, ducking around the taller figure illuminated by the fading grey light of the day. He heard Leliana’s murmured “ _Cassandra_ ” as she greeted the other woman, and Cassandra’s response was pitched too low for him to hear at this distance. After a moment Leliana nodded her goodbyes and slipped out of the hall, and he did not envy her the trek up the mountain in the plummeting cold. 

But that, of course, left Seeker Pentaghast. 

Cassandra walked with a bounce in her step- he knew better than to suggest that she was actually giddy at the success they’d achieved so far, but when she strode forcefully through the Chantry hall with her head held high, it made her look ten years younger at least. There was a vibrancy to her, an energy that verged on ecstatic; granted, she was not one given over to grand proclamations of her personal feelings, but she might as well have been singing joyously as she walked. 

Cullen restrained himself from grinning at her buoyancy, but something in his expression must have given him away, for she slowed with eyes narrowed in his direction. “Something on your mind, Commander?” she asked pleasantly, the sort of pleasantness that served as a warning to any foolish enough to prod at it too closely. 

Crossing his arms carefully over his chest, Cullen did his best to keep a straight face. “No, my Lady, nothing at all,” he said, as innocently as he could muster. “My thoughts were elsewhere.”

“Of course they were,” she said dryly, the glint in her eyes telling him precisely how convincing his act was. “Perhaps you should ask them to join us, next time- I’m sure it would make our conversations far more stimulating.”

“You wound me, Lady Cassandra.”

“I’m sure that could be arranged, Commander. If you fancy another embarrassment in the training yard-”

“I’m fairly certain, if my memory serves correctly, that our last contest ended to my advantage.”

“Nonsense,” she said, waving her hand dismissively; there was a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, though. “The referee was clearly biased in your favour.”

He chuckled, and gestured for her to take the lead; her smile was a tad shy of smug as she turned and all but sauntered towards the council room, previously the private audience chamber of the Mother who served in Haven and who had served as a guide to the pilgrims these last five or six years. She had relinquished her post with more gusto than they’d anticipated, quite eagerly taking a place of honour with Justinia in the temple for the oncoming conclave. 

He had to hope she wouldn’t object too strongly to the assorted holes in her table, given the number of knives and weights holding open various maps and charts on the surface. 

“How is the mood up at the temple?” he asked, heading over to the side table that had been allocated for his personal use. It had been meticulously tidy when he’d headed out this morning, but with the eve of the conclave upon them the surface was piled high with new reports and requests for him to read through and approve. He fought back a sigh as he dropped heavily into the chair before it, debating where was a sensible place to even consider beginning.

“Is that a serious question, Commander?” Cassandra asked, picking up her own much smaller pile of folders from the central table and flicking absently through them as she wandered past him. 

“As serious as it can be,” he called over his shoulder, opening each leather folder and scribbling his signature quickly across the bottom after skimming through it. “I’m not expecting a happy answer.”

“A sensible mindset to take,” she said wryly. “Most Holy is, for the moment, satisfied with the attendance and with the behaviour of her guests. That may of course change in the coming days once proceedings get underway.”

“I would be surprised if it didn’t,” he said, frowning over the illegible scrawl in one report before shrugging and signing off on it anyway. 

“By all means, Commander, if you have opinions, I’d be delighted for you to share them.”

“Our forces are keeping the peace for now, but it’s not exactly pleasant out there,” he said pointedly, turning in the chair to face her. “There have been a handful of scuffles, nothing to escalate beyond angry posturing, but-”

“But it won’t take much to push it over the edge,” Cassandra finished, grimacing. 

He nodded reluctantly, digging into the mess on the desk for a particular sheet of parchment. “To be expected, of course, given how badly unchecked both sides have been for the past year, but still a great frustration.”

She sighed, the sound little more than a grunt of disgust. 

Finding the file he wanted, he turned the conversation to a more conciliatory topic. “I’ve had more templars approach us quietly to express their dissatisfaction with the current direction of the order,” he said, handing her the list of names as a means of appeasement. “There is a great deal of unhappiness at the Knight-Vigilant’s stance, not to mention his willingness to turn a blind eye to the ongoing slaughter of innocents. There are a good number of men and women who, should the conclave fail to achieve a result, will happily return to Justinia’s banner should the need arise.”

Running her finger down the list, Cassandra’s brow slowly lifted in surprise. “This is an impressive collection of names, Commander,” she said, glancing up at him over the file. “More than one Knight-Commander, a half dozen captains... this speaks highly of your ability to inspire your former colleagues.”

“I hardly think I can take the credit for their decision to see reason,” he said. “If anything, it’s a testament to their loyalty to Her Holiness, and to their principles.”

“Your inability to take a compliment is amusing, Cullen,” she said wryly, handing the file back to him with a rather pointed look. “You can take pride in your achievements, you know.”

He chuckled. “I will take pride in knowing that I was sensible enough to see the right path when it was placed before me, and in knowing we build a better world,” he said. “Beyond that, I’d rather not get ahead of myself.”

It was the most polite way to nod to his past and his need for atonement first before ego stroking, without actually getting into any sordid and grisly confessions about his time in Kirkwall. His apologies would not bring the dead back to life, but neither would he accept praise for simply admitting to his crimes and working to make amends for them. 

He did not need a pat on the head for finally trying to be a better man. 

They worked in silence for a time, each going through the piles of reports and requests that had been left for them throughout the day while they’d been maintaining the peace. For Cullen that meant reading through a dozen or so identical accounts from his captains, mentioning the various incidences they’d dealt with- most of which they’d informed him of verbally earlier on- and the growing number of soldiers and civilians tentatively seeking them out in the hope of joining Justinia’s banner. It would all be for naught in the coming months, should the conclave achieve peace, but for all he knew it was possible the Holy Mother sought to pointedly march into Orlais and shake Celene and Gaspard by the scruff of their necks until the civil war was at an end as well. 

Her drive for unity was ambitious, of that he had no doubt; some small part of him vaguely suspected she could call an Exalted March and no one would even stop to question where they were marching.

“I see you found your way into Threnn’s bad graces once again,” Cassandra said, drawing him back to the present. 

He glanced over at her, where her head was bent over the report while a smile tugged at her mouth. “I wasn’t aware that at any point I’d successfully _left_ her bad graces,” he said.

“You should not have talked politics with her-”

“I didn’t talk politics, I simply said I had no opinion on the damned civil war. It was over a decade ago, and some things are best left in the past.”

“I seem to recall your remarks being rather more direct than that.”

He cast her a dirty look, and she snickered. “I _have_ no opinion on the civil war, nor Teyrn Loghain or the Lady Cousland,” he said pointedly. When she when was still smiling when she went back to her own readings, he muttered, “Or at least none that bear repeating in pleasant company.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

She made a noise of disbelief and he fought back a grin, doing his best to keep a straight face as he continued to flick through the paperwork. There was something soothing, in that- as Meredith’s health had deteriorated and her paranoia had grown, he’d spent more and more time seeing to the day to day management of the Gallows, and after the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry and Meredith’s death, he’d taken on even more of the administrative duties. There was a numbing familiarity to it, something he would have scoffed at once, but he enjoyed the efficiency of a well maintained system.

It was ridiculously satisfying to clear his desk of all outstanding requests, and that was something he never would have believed he’d admit to as a younger, more agitated captain. 

How things could change in such a seemingly short space of time.

They continued to work in companionable silence, each caught up in their own thoughts, until a gentle knock on the door and a pointed cleared throat drew them out of their own heads.

Josephine was standing in the doorway with a striking woman of impressive height, although undoubtedly some of that height could be attributed to her carefully styled hair. She towered over their diplomat, but she carried herself with the most delicate gracefulness that made Josephine look almost awkward and gangly in comparison. Her hair was pulled back tight from her face, black and springy and fanning out like a halo behind her head; it was held in place by a brilliant blue scarf that seemed almost preternaturally bright, even in the dim lighting of the hall. She looked like a queen, draped in majestic blues and golds, trimmed in ermine to ward against the cold. 

He’d seen men and women come through the port in Kirkwall with her same stature and skin tone, sailors and merchants and raiders pretending to be both and failing, and none of them had ever had her sense of _presence_ , like you were standing in the vicinity of someone revered and sacred. She was a mage- he could tell that immediately, her magic prickling along the edge of his senses like the faint shiver of pins and needles, a subtle buzz that was neither sound nor touch, but that he could feel nonetheless. 

He set his paperwork down carefully as he climbed to his feet, and Cassandra did likewise, the two of them turning towards the door while Josephine graced them with a magnificent smile. “I apologise for the interruption,” she said graciously, nodding to both of them in apology. “My Lady, may I introduce you to two of my colleagues, who also serve Divine Justinia in this trying time.”

The woman in question smiled placidly at both of them, her dark skin a tapestry of magnificent intricacy. The ink both on and under her skin drew his eye in, trying to follow the endless confusing swirls and patterns and failing. She looked vaguely familiar, but if she’d been in the camp for more than a few days it was likely he had passed her in the halls of the temple or the grounds surrounding.

“It is my great pleasure to introduce the Lady Leylo of Dairsmuid,” Josephine continued, gesturing to her companion. “Her ladyship has journeyed from Rivain to represent her mother, Mwonaji Ishaaro of the Council of Matriarchs.”

“The honorific is appreciated, but obsolete,” Lady Leylo said, her voice soft and gentle, surprisingly girlish despite the touches of grey in her hair and the crinkled lines around her eyes. “Mwonaji is an old Rivaini word- seeress is far more common parlance. It is an acceptable form of address.”

Josephine nodded in acknowledgement, making a note of it on her writing board. “As you say, my Lady,” she said, before turning her smile brightly to the room. “Lady Leylo, might I introduce Commander Rutherford, the commanding officer of our peacekeeping forces.”

They’d gone through this routine often enough in the last few weeks, standing patiently to be prodded and assessed and scrutinised by the various nobles and dignitaries and authority figures arriving to attend the conclave. Josephine had deftly handled lords and soldiers and priests without even blinking, and Cullen had learned to just smile blankly and bow as required and let her do the talking. He’d made quite enough awkward attempts at emergency diplomacy in Kirkwall when he’d found himself most senior temple in a broken and bleeding city- he knew his own limits, and he knew Josephine was far more qualified than he to entertain and negotiate.

So he offered a smile to their guest, bowing politely. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my Lady,” he said, parrotting the compliments from memory. “We are humbled beyond measure that you would undertake such a journey.”

“Rivain desires peace and stability just as greatly as the rest of Thedas,” she said, her chin held high and her hands folded delicately before her. “It is hardly a great inconvenience to seek out peace, rather than war- would you not agree, Commander?”

Cullen blinked. “I, um...” He glanced at Josephine, confused by the obvious bait but perplexed as to what she could possibly hope to gain from him with such a question. “Yes?” 

“How encouraging,” she said smoothly. “It is not often that we see career soldiers so eager to set down their weapons, especially not those inured to the culture of the templar order.”

The tension in the room spiked upwards, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Cassandra draw herself up straighter. Clearing his throat nervously, Cullen said “Not all of us take up the sword to assuage some great bloodlust. Some of us seek only to serve, and to protect, and by my actions here with the Most Holy, I hope to build a culture of the latter.”

Josephine’s relief was only faintly visible, only noticeable if you knew what to look for; she was, after all, well versed in The Game, that damnable Orlesian preoccupation, and it was of great importance to keep one’s reactions minimal or face disgrace. Having spent the last half a year watching her rein in her frustrations and her disgust and her relief in order to adopt a charming smile, he’d become accustomed to the smaller flickers that gave her away. The way she shifted her weight to one foot, the way she glanced down at her noteboard before looking to the left to collect her thoughts briefly- little indications that let the more observant know more about her thought processes. 

She gestured in Cullen’s direction with her quill still in hand, the sweep of the feather through the air making the action seem a little more flamboyant than was entirely necessary. “The Commander comes to us highly qualified in conflict management,” Josephine said grandly, as if she were discussing something far more pleasant than his years struggling against the anarchy in Kirkwall. “And more importantly, he has witnessed first hand the consequences of allowing a breakdown in communications to fester, and stands with us to see to it that no further innocents need suffer as a result of this war.”

Lady Leylo smiled flatly. “I would be interested to see precisely who the Commander considers to be an _innocent_ in this matter,” she said, “but no matter.”

Strained silence hung in the air, thick and bruised, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Cassandra all but vibrating with displeasure. Josephine cleared her throat again with a rather pointed _ahem_ , a subtle nod in Cullen’s direction her way of an apology for putting him on the spot. “I am sure the Commander would be happy to discuss it with you any time, my Lady,” she said brightly. “But, if I may redirect the turn of the conversation, might I introduce Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, the Right Hand of Divine Justinia herself.”

If the tension in the room had been unpleasant a moment earlier, when Cullen’s background with the templars had unhappily come to light, it was near to glacial at Cassandra’s introduction. “A Seeker, is it?” Lady Leylo said, her voice mild but her expression suddenly cold. “Tell me, _Seeker_ , how have you found the Lord Seeker’s leadership in these trying times?”

It was a remarkably direct question, even more obvious than her attempt to acerbate him a moment earlier, and Cullen stiffened in alarm, sharing a concerned look with Josephine; Cassandra was a blunt woman at the best of times, and the last thing they needed was for her direct turn of phrase to start a diplomatic incident before the conclave had even officially begun. 

But Cassandra surprised them, smiling thinly in a gesture that conveyed no warmth. “The Lord Seeker has elected to defy the will of the Most Holy,” she said flatly, “and that includes continuing in his predecessor’s foolishness. His actions are his own, and he leads the order astray.”

“What a pleasant way to discuss a man responsible for the massacre of innocents,” Lady Leylo said, her hands folded before her with no hint of her anger in her body language but for the faint glitter in dark eyes. “Do you consider his absence from the conclave to be merely distasteful? What of the violent annulment of the Dairsmuid Circle- was that simply an unfortunate eventuality?”

Josephine leapt into the gap after she finished her question, while Cassandra took a sharp intake of breath in an obvious precursor to some rather ill-thought tirade. “We of course mourn the tragedy that is _any_ annulment,” she said quickly, bowing her head respectfully at the mention of the bloodshed.

Lady Leylo, apparently, was not in the mood for such reassurances, however. “I shall offer your condolences to my sister,” she said coldly, all hint of politeness gone from her tone, “who wept as her daughter was murdered for daring to protect children from the sword, and whose body was denied all honour and respect and was burned in a pit, rather than being allowed the traditional mourning rites of our people.”

Cassandra made a noise of incredulity. “What exactly do you hope to achieve in coming here, my Lady?” she asked. “You have clearly already judged us to be of villainous intent.”

“Nothing of the sort. What happened in Dairsmuid, there are those that worry it is a signifier of something more to come. There is a climate of fear and agitation in the north- the Exalted March against our land was not so long ago, in hindsight.”

Cullen’s heart lurched in his chest at the implication, and from the look of distress on Josephine’s face he knew he was not the only one disturbed by such assumptions. “My Lady, I can assure you, _nothing_ could be further from the Divine’s mind,” Josephine said hastily, but again, whatever assurances she meant to offer were cut short. 

“And yet she has called to her side warriors to serve as her voice- it looks very much to me like you assemble a war council here,” she said, her tone mild but her words brutally direct. “Are you anticipating a holy war, ambassador?”

“We are _already_ at war, my Lady,” Cassandra said stiffly, speaking before Josephine could rush to soothe tensions. “What we seek to do here is put an end to it.”

“A fact that we in the north were forcibly reminded of not so long ago,” Leylo said. “Hopefully such a meeting of minds will provide us with a greater sense of direction, rather than indulging in hysterical massacres on foreign shores.”

“Rivain has some rather blunt opinions on the conduct of-”

“Rivain has sent no formal delegate to represent her affairs,” Lady Leylo said sharply, cutting her off. “I do not speak for Rivain, only myself. There was no clear consensus on how to proceed, and so it was agreed that each of the matriarchs could act as they saw most appropriate for their House and their community. Some chose to attend, some saw fit not to dignify it or even acknowledge it.”

“That seems a complicated way to run a country.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And your southern politics are _so_ efficient- what with the civil war currently tearing apart Orlais, or Ferelden recovering from its own coup, or the Free Marches reeling from political anarchy, or Nevarra-”

“You’ve made your point.”

“I haven’t even begun to make my point, Seeker, but that is neither here nor there.”

Cassandra looked like she was about to throw a book across the room in frustration, and Josephine took that as the best time to remove their guest from her presence before she caused any further damage to the situation. “I’m sure there will be time enough in the coming week to discuss the intersection of the chantry’s political influence with local cultures and the need for more open dialogue between them, but for now, my Lady, perhaps we should continue our tour? I believe you wanted to discuss the availability of merchant concessions for imported items?”

She ushered Lady Leylo from the room, casting an apologetic look over her shoulder as she did. The door closed carefully behind them, and the moment it did so Cassandra let out a strangled shriek of frustration, hissed out from between gritted teeth as she smacked a pile of haphazardly stacked leather folios onto the floor. There was a thud as they toppled over, followed by a slow cascade of papers as she stalked along the length of the table, hands digging into her hair as she practically seethed with irritation. 

Cullen leaned back against his own desk, arms still crossed as he watched her. “Are you in need of a drink, perhaps?” he asked wryly, eyeing the papers as they slowly settled onto the floor in a puddle. 

She glared at him as she stalked past him. “How can you stand there so calmly in the face of such accusations?” she snapped, her hands clenched into fists at her side that she very pointedly relaxed at a look from him. “She might as well have declared the Divine to be guilty of wielding the blade itself, rather than-”

“Cassandra,” he said, voice soft but firm, “Dairsmuid was a mistake. Each and every one of us with ties to the Chantry shares the burden of guilt for what happened there.”

She stopped, a dark look in her eyes as she glared at him, and then her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I am _aware_ of that, Cullen,” she said, almost petulantly. “I am frustrated because I fear that, for all our good intentions, Most Holy will spend a great deal of her time simply placating the fears and angers of those assembled, rather than having any genuine opportunity to push for a resolution.”

“Have faith, Cassandra- if it is the Maker’s will, we will find peace here.”

She sighed, and then cast him a vaguely accusatory look. “You were far more reserved in your answers than I would have expected,” she said. “Your patience in the face of such adversity is admirable.”

He laughed once. “Meredith wasn’t particularly interested in facing public criticism in the last three or four years,” he said ruefully, rubbing at his jaw. “So, for the most part, it fell to me to deal with any and all complaints and posturing and passive aggressive backhanded compliments... and sometimes there were days when Hawke _didn’t_ visit.”

The joke had the desired result, and Cassandra snorted in amusement, some of the tension easing in her shoulders. “She was really that bad?”

“Admittedly, the man I was then was not someone I am proud of, so I don’t doubt that I probably antagonised her far more than necessary.” He sighed. “But, if anything, it gave me a sense of perspective when it came to diplomacy.”

“Cullen, you are _terrible_ at diplomacy.”

“Exactly.” 

They looked at each other for a moment, and then burst out laughing. 

There was hope, and that was enough.


End file.
